Half Agony, Half Hope
by Austennerdita2533
Summary: A collection of Tumblr drabbles/oneshots: part fluff, part angst, all Klaroline. "You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope."-Persuasion, Jane Austen
1. Corporate Wolf

**PROMPT : _"I'm in a boring corporate business job and you're in the cubicle in front of mine, did you just send me a paper aeroplane with the words "WASSSSSSSUP TURN UP BITCHEZ" written on it? KC + AU._**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

I'm more of a law-bender than a law-abider. Always have been, always will be. I leave rigidity to Elijah and his perfectly tailored suits, just like I leave the tedium of moral negotiations to his more than capable mind. Where he is refined, I am savage. Where he is stoic, I am impulsive. Where he is condoning, I am vengeful.

Let's just say there's a reason I'm known as the Corporate Wolf.

I've spent years solidifying my reputation as the most ferocious corporate litigator in the country, as the most feared member of the Originals' Legacy Group. My legal instincts aren't just sharp, they're puncturing. I suck the life out of opposition with the fangs of retribution, bloodlust covering my tongue with its addictive, saccharine taste. My adversaries' defeat becomes the dinner I lick from my cold and calculating fingers—delicious to the last bloody, whimpering, forsaken drop.

I'm only here for the thrill of the kill…and _her_.

* * *

 ** _2 years ago_** :

"It's time for a change, Niklaus. Innovation, improvement, increased interests," Elijah rattled off, his voice echoing in the empty conference room," these are the things that you—that _we_ —need desperately at this firm. I'm merely attempting to supply them. For all of us."

Placing a binder on the table, he slid it toward me. "This is our best step forward."

"Best step forward, is it?"

I didn't care about his carefully documented reasons; I cared about his blatant disloyalty to this firm. To this family. To _me_.

Knocking the binder to the floor with an incredulous laugh, I said, "Have you gone temporarily insane? Or has that Petrova paralegal of yours seduced the _sense_ right out of your brain?"

Elijah pursed his lips. I could tell he was displeased with my lack of tact, but not enough to comment on it.

"We need fresh blood to make us stronger."

Ah, yes—forever impassive Elijah: the pretense expert. _For the good of family and firm_ , he'd say. He always hid behind honor and integrity, didn't he?

 _The insufferable prat._

"And by fresh blood, you mean a law novice?" I scoffed with disgust. "I must say, brother, this is the most asinine idea you've had yet."

Elijah tucked a pen behind his ear and shrugged.

"Whether or not you agree, this place is in need of revitalization. And this will provide it." Maneuvering before me with his hands clasped behind his back, he fixed me with a stern look. "I believe we can learn from her," he said.

"Perhaps if we're lucky—" he arched an eyebrow "—some of her wisdom will rub off on you."

I laughed heartily at this.

What, pray tell, could an amateur attorney teach me that I hadn't already perfected years ago? Control? I invented it! Preparation? I'm paranoid. I plot out every scenario and sub-scenario until my mind hemorrhages. Manipulation? I'm the mother-fucking- _ALPHA_. Teach _me_ , would she? Ha!

Without warning, I flashed before Elijah and clutched him by the starched lapels, my fingers strangling into his Armani suit fabric.

"The only wisdom a newbie lawyer of twenty-five will impart on _me_ ," I spat through clenched teeth, "is how to get my ass kicked in court. The O'Connell-Marshall case is the biggest of my career, brother. And I don't need help...from _anyone_."

The sound of high heels _click clacked_ from behind us and I froze. Shooting Elijah one last scowl, I released him and turned to face the unwelcome intruder with a smirk.

"Well," the blonde clucked, appraising me haughtily, "I guess it's safe to say that your arrogant _barking_ lives up to all the hype."

"And who might you be, sweetheart?" I asked, intrigued.

"Caroline Forbes," she replied with a smile, extending her hand in business-like salutation. I admit, I didn't hesitate to take it. "I'm the newbie attorney who's going to save your self-destructive ass in court. _A_ _nd_ win this case."

* * *

Caroline doesn't observe me, but I observe her. Every day.

Every bloody _day_ I'm hyper-aware of the perky, compulsive, meticulous blonde perched in the cubicle right outside the open door of my office. Not only is she diligent and overachieving (often combing through those dreary briefs until well after midnight) but she's ambitious; the fire to succeed igniting her with a rare sense of compassion exclusive to her...and to her alone. A killer—she kills not with ruthlessness, but with kindness. Making her more lethal than the masquerading devil of the courts I pertain to be.

Caroline's not merely content with learning the facts of a case either, she endeavors to understand them. Line by line. Detail by detail. No matter how long it takes.

It was this astuteness that had caused Elijah to hire her fresh out of law school two years ago, shocking us all. We had always made decisions of that magnitude together—as a family—and it had felt like cold-blooded betrayal at the time.

More than that, my brother _never_ employs inexperienced associates to represent the firm. To him, inexperience would jeopardize the _always and forever_ legacy our firm protects and upholds: _MIKAELSONS NEVER LOSE_. (And they don't. Or they haven't throughout 200-years of established history.) Hiring Caroline without consulting Rebekah and I first was rash and impulsive. Two things completely out-of-character for my brother.

Yet, somehow, Caroline had shattered Elijah's implacable constraint. Not only had she pocketed the coveted position on the fast-track to junior partner with ease, but she'd excelled at it with likable vivacity. Clients trusted her, colleagues admired her, opposing counsel respected her; and before long, the entire corporate world bowed down to her as queen.

Caroline quickly became Elijah's Golden Girl…and my Golden Hell. From the moment we first met, from the moment our hands shook in accepted challenge in that conference room, I knew she'd crack my world apart.

And she would.

She has.

She will.

In more ways than one.

* * *

 ** _1 year ago_ :**

"You are the most infuriating man on the planet!" Caroline exclaimed as she thumped into my office, slamming the door behind her. She threw a bundle of papers onto my desk with her fist. It was research files for the O'Connell-Marshall case. "Do you want to explain what the hell this is?"

"Strategy," I replied with nonchalance.

Caroline crossed her arms and huffed, "Corrupt strategy would be more like it! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you _want_ to be seen as a monster?"

I looked up at this, my expression betraying nothing except indifference. It wasn't the first time someone had viewed me as grotesque—as the _corporate scum of the earth_ as Mikael liked to say—nor the last time, I suppose.

Not that Caroline viewed me this way, mind you. That was the exasperating thing about her, truth be told, I didn't know _how_ she viewed me. Not truly.

Unlike others, she preferred to question me about my dark tactics, investigate them, if you will, rather than ascribe them to me automatically. She pushed for explanations, not just answers. I found it unnerving...and her, annoyingly enticing.

"I'm sorry, love, but this is what we call the _dark side_ of justice," I explained. "Sometimes a little coercion and extortion is necessary to—"

"Necessary my ass!" Caroline interrupted, her eyebrows crinkled in rage. "Your grand plan, your so-called _ingenious_ strategy? It isn't necessary at all! This—" she smacked the papers on my desk and shook her head "—this isn't justice, Klaus...it's retribution."

Growling, I sprang to my feet, snapping the pencil in my hand in the process. "What the fuck does it matter?" I barked in response.

Caroline gaped at me from across the desk, all outrage and horror. I leaned in, eyes narrowed, until our foreheads nearly touched.

"Who cares how deep we bury the bastards so long as we win?"

" _I_ care. And deep down—" she glared, plopping a hand onto my shoulder and squeezing "—so do you."

"You're wrong," I countered, never breaking eye contact.

Caroline pulled away, but the ghost of her touch still lingered.

"I know you're still pissed about being swindled out of that New Orleans deal, but if you do this—" she sighed, "if you do this, just think of all the innocent lives you'll jeopardize! Imagine all the hopes of livelihood you'll smash with your iron fist."

I let out an exasperated sound.

"And that won't be because of Hayley and Camille," she continued, "that will be because of you—because of what _you_ choose to do."

I stammered in response. Not because I had nothing to say, but because there was truth in what she said.

"It's your choice," she shrugged. "What kind of man will you choose to be?"

I snarled at this. Damn her and her prodding! Her pushing! Why did she want to know what kind of man I was? Why did she care?

"What if I told you that collateral damage doesn't matter to me?" I said.

Caroline folded her arms and fixed me with a skeptical look. "Then I'd call you a big, fat liar."

Stooping over my desk, she used her arm like a broom and swept the lot of my research files (which had taken hours, days, and weeks to collect) into the trash with one large swoop. She smiled with satisfaction after she'd finished and turned on her heel, pausing only to say one more thing, "Fix it," she said.

Though I hated to admit it to myself, I admired her courage in this moment because no one in this office dared to confront me let alone _command_ me to do something. The brazenness!

"What makes you think I'd do anything _you_ , or anyone else, told me to do?" I said in retort.

Caroline glanced over her shoulder, her hand still poised on the doorknob.

"Nothing. But a girl can always hope, can't she?" She smiled as she exited, her voice echoing behind her from the hallway. "After all," she added, "I believe there's beauty in every beast."

* * *

Caroline Forbes doesn't regard me. Not in the way she should, anyway.

Unlike the rest of our employees, it's not fear that quivers her voice as she utters my name. It's confrontation. It's challenge. There's audacity in her unrelenting air of justice and how it clings to her like skin. It escapes from her in eyes. In mouth. In attitude. It cascades from her in thunderous tones of light to assault me with that unapologetic frankness and that sassy yet probing _show me_.

She's a beautiful anomaly in this lawyering sea of well-conditioned suck-ups, genuinely demanding the kind of mercy I'm not quite sure I possess. She's the one true white hat amid all the black ones; whereas I—

 _I am the blackest of them all_.

But like Caroline said, I, too, have come to believe there's _beauty in every beast._ I've come to realize there's white in the blackest of black hats. And because of that, because of _her_ , I've rediscovered the white in the corporate wolf that is me.

* * *

 ** _Present_ :**

After two long years of legal battledom, the O'Connell-Marshall case finally came to a satisfactory close. We won! The Originals' Legacy lives on—not because the Corporate Wolf attacked with retribution, but because a Corporate Angel showed me how to strike with strong-armed justice and compassion.

Caroline showed me the light in end. It wasn't all the people of New Orleans who deserved to suffer, but the corrupt and powerful business owners who needed to be punished. Believe it or not, I now relish in the knowledge that Hayley and Camille will rot in jail as the city they attempted to destroy continues to flourish without them. With the French Quarter back under my protection again, what better sense of vindication do I need?

I don't. It's enough just to be victorious...and to be buried up to my bloody elbows in paperwork.

After I collapse back into my chair with a yawn after what feels like weeks, I feel something pointy prick against my hand and fall into my lap. I glance down and see a piece of computer paper. It's folded into the shape of an airplane with the words _OPEN ME_ scribbled across the top.

There's a note written on the inside:

 _Welcome back to Humanity Land, Mikaelson! (Didn't I tell you we'd save that self-destructive ass of yours?)_

 _Buy me a drink to celebrate? ;)_

— _the Amateur_

After I finish reading, I look straight outside my office door, my eyes seeking the girl perched in her perfect little cubicle with her hands clasped over her lap. Caroline's smiling; she's smiling at _me._ She tilts her head and waits for my answer.

I catch my breath as I move toward her, knowing only _one_ thing for damn sure: she doesn't have to ask me twice.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : I wrote this in first person for something different. I don't pretend to know much about corporate law besides some basics (Yay for business law in uni!), so I kept the "case" vague on purpose. Klaus is more redeeming here (kind of) than he'd ordinarily be, but I felt it worked for this piece. Anyway, thanks for reading!**

 **Reviews, por favor?**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	2. No Shave, No Problem

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Let me preface this by saying: it's fluffy; it's silly; it's absolutely ridiculous. Complete with some Kalijah, Kennett, Rebenzo, and Thanksgiving because why the heck not? Happy No-Shave November, lovelies! ****Read away. :)**

* * *

"I think I've been pretty patient," Caroline said as she trailed her fingers across his beard, "but I need to know—" she placed a soft, swift kiss against his mouth "—why you persist in looking like a wooly mammoth," she smiled.

It had been 3 weeks now since Klaus had last taken a razor to his face. And while furry kisses stung less than fuzzy ones, Caroline missed his sexy scruff. She loved the man and all, but this new, overgrown-bush look—well, let's just say it was a tad too _unkempt_ for her taste.

"Is it a Tsar Nicholas war tactic," she pressed, "or nostalgia for the dinosaur era?"

Klaus chuckled and hooked his fingers around her waist.

Thanks largely to a "responsibility" squabble between Hayley and Camille in the Quarter—as if either one of them could assume Queenly duties— _seriously_ —they'd spent the last few months warding off unrest between the humans and werewolves. A hub of supernatural drama, New Orleans constantly bubbled with new threats and old turmoil. It was part of the city's enchanting ambiance.

Besides, Caroline never expected eternity with her Original Hybrid to be ordinary. Or uneventful for that matter. That being said, was it pathetic for her to hope this was an insane war strategy and not a burly-bearded pirate phase?

"Neither—" he said, pulling her away from the kitchen island. Ingredients for her grandmother's stuffing recipe littered the countertop. "—it's for No-Shave November."

It was their first Thanksgiving together as an official couple, and Caroline had endeavored to make it a special one: an elegant five-course meal (that _she'd_ cook) where they'd give thanks for the love they'd found and offer hope for their happy, eternal future together. The guest list included the entire Originals clan, their significant others, and a few of her Mystic Falls friends. In other words, today would be hectic. And Caroline, trusty, neurotic control freak on crack that she was, determined that everything would go off without a hitch…or else.

Klaus leaned in for another kiss, but Caroline stopped him with a hand to the chest and appraised him.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

He peered back at her sheepishly and grasped her more firmly around the waist.

"Now, love, before you—" Klaus started.

Caroline shirked out of his grasp and flashed to the other side of the island in a huff.

"—Do you mean to tell me," she interrupted, "that for the past few weeks—" she began slicing and dicing carrots like a woman possessed "—I've let you stomp around here looking like a freaking serial killer—" she paused, throwing the knife at the countertop; it stuck into the granite by his hand "—for some stupid hockey tradition that you once scorned as _bloody foolish and asinine?"_

"To be fair," Klaus smirked, his hands raised in admission of guilt, "I _am_ a serial killer…"

Caroline gaped.

"That doesn't mean I want you to _look_ like one!"

Annoyed, she darted to the refrigerator on the pretense of needing celery. In reality, she just needed a distraction from the increasing desire to slice away his stupid beard with her chef's knife.

Klaus' arms wrapped around her as she stood before the open refrigerator door, lost in thought. His lips left a trail of kisses along the exposed skin of her neck.

"It's not a hockey beard," he breathed into her ear.

"No shit," Caroline snorted, "you hate hockey."

"Not entirely. I like the bludgeoning part," he answered, burying his face in her hair.

She leaned back against him despite herself, annoyance abating ever-so-slightly. The bastard knew how much her body and soul craved his touch and he used it to his advantage.

"Why the _Duck Dynasty_ beard, Klaus?" she asked.

Turning to face him, she draped her arms around him and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. Perhaps coaxing it out of him with delicacy would be best?

"We both know it's not to raise cancer awareness—" she fixed him with a knowing look "—Sorry," she said, "but your humanitarianism isn't that far evolved."

…Or not.

Klaus simpered at this, confirming how well Caroline understood him.

"So, tell me," she encouraged with wiggled eyebrows, "what's the gag—" a smiled lifted her lips as she pressed her forehead against his "—or are you merely testing my ability to be honest with you?" she prodded, running her hands through his bearded mane.

Wrapped up in each other, they swayed back and forth across the kitchen floor as gently and as warmly as a love song.

"No," Klaus dimpled at her, "I know you're never afraid to be honest with me." He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. "I regard your honesty with the utmost adoration—" he chucked "—even when I don't particularly wish to hear it," he admitted, rolling his eyes playfully.

Caroline, her eyes closed, shivered as he placed a kiss against her temple. It never failed to amaze her how each and every time he bestowed her with tenderness—a look, a word, or a touch—her heart, and every _freaking_ neuron synapse it possessed, blazed in response. To hell with heightened vampire senses, it was their _connection_ that was damn-well supernatural! She dared anyone to disagree, okay? _Dared_ them.

"Do you know how you're always telling me to stop being an Original Dud—" he continued "—and to try and embrace new American customs?"

Caroline nodded and sighed into his chest.

"Well, Kol and Enzo thought—"

Her eyes flashed open at this.

"—that this would be the perfect modern custom for us to try," he finished.

Pulling back, she scrutinized her boyfriend, who looked unbothered and unapologetically proud of himself, from beneath pinched eyebrows.

"Oh…my… _God_ ," Caroline groaned. "You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

After releasing a grunt and rolling her eyes emphatically, she broke free from Klaus' embrace for the second time and walked back to the island to continue her Thanksgiving dinner preparations. Her verbal onslaught continued as she moved, however.

"I love Kol and Enzo, I do—but holy hell!" she exclaimed, tossing her head back in frustration. "They're like vampire bash brothers. Their main thrill in life comes from wreaking trouble-making havoc wherever they go!"

"I mean this with the utmost adoration, Klaus," she continued as she unwrapped the celery, "but what in the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Klaus ran a hand through his hair; and repressing a smile, shrugged.

"Are you _trying_ to ruin our first Thanksgiving?" she asked.

The hybrid's strangled laugh suddenly filled the air as she said this, causing Caroline to look up and narrow her eyes at him.

"This is _not_ funny!" she yelled. "I am royally pissed!"

While she channeled her frustrations into re-tying her apron and chopping the celery to death, Klaus skulked to her side, fixing her with those infamous puppy-dog eyes and caressing her tense shoulders with his hands.

Still fuming, she shrugged him off.

"Your lack of consideration for my meticulously planned evening astounds me!" she exclaimed.

"How dare you! Get out!—" she pushed him away and pointed to the door "—I have a feast to prepare, and if you don't leave right now," she continued, "I swear to God, I'll roast you with damn the turkey!"

"Come, now, sweetheart—" Klaus started.

He reached out to stroke her hair, but when she evaded his touch again, he growled. Although he now knew, and believed (most of the time), that she loved him—which took some _serious_ convincing, by the way—Caroline knew that centuries full of rejection and disdain were still fresh in his memory. Old insecurities died hard, right?

"You've lived with it for three bloody weeks, Caroline, surely you can manage for a few more days," he barked.

"A few more _days_?" she gasped. "You're not going to shave it off?"

Klaus shook his head.

"Not today, I'm not."

Whirling around, knife-in-hand, her fingers trembling with irritation, eyes blazing, Caroline gaped at her boyfriend with open-mouthed shock. He _had_ to be joking! This was un-freaking-acceptable!

"You—you mean to tell me—" she sputtered "—that you and your matted, disheveled, unruly, _ridiculous_ excuse of a November beard—" she pointed the knife's blade at his chin "—will be on full display for all of our dinner guests tonight?" she asked, absolutely appalled.

Stepping forward in all his cocky, ostentatious glory, Klaus allowed the tip of the knife's blade to pierce the place in his chin where his dimple resided. It drew blood, and then promptly healed.

"Yes, love," he said as he inclined his head. "That's exactly what I'm saying—" his voice was low and insistent, his smile devilish "—and there's _nothing_ you can do about it."

"Want to bet?" she challenged through gritted teeth.

Caroline lurched forward, aiming to slice off pieces of his flesh if need be—anything to free his beautiful, chiseled face of that awful blond beard—(to make matters worse, enhanced vampire-healing sometimes caused hair to grow twice as fast, meaning that Klaus's beard had already begun to rival that of Old St. Nick's)—but he had her squashed against the adjacent wall before she blinked twice. Although the chef's knife still rested in her hand, Klaus had her wrists pinned over her head, unable to move. Or to wield. His hips pressed against hers and steadied her into place like prey. Caroline struggled against him, but to no avail—she was his.

 _Damn him and his unparalleled stealth!_ she lamented to herself.

Klaus' eyes roved over her—part in delight, part in frustration. The man was paradox freaking personified! And under different circumstances, when she wasn't so absolutely furious…this would be kind of hot. As it was, however—

"—Would you kindly unhand me so I can knife that detestable thing off your face, please?" Caroline spat.

Amusement colored Klaus' expression at the sound of her defiance. The asshole always _did_ love the chase, didn't he?

"Now, Caroline—" his blue eyes suddenly pierced hers with intensity, laughter fading into the darkness of his dilated pupils "—did you or did you not, promise to love me through the good, the bad, and—" he paused for emphasis "—the _ugly_?"

The air deflated from her angry tires with that one, and she relented. Reluctantly.

"Fine," she mumbled.

Klaus peered at her skeptically.

"Fine?"

"If you don't want to shave," she replied, "it's not my problem. I don't care anymore."

He seemed surprised at Caroline's easy surrender, but discerning the sincerity in her tone and air, he believed her, lowering her wrists from the wall and drooping them over his head.

"Good."

He drew long, languid lines along her forearms with his fingers.

"Would I be presumptuous to assume we've resolved our little spat then?" he asked with his bottom lip poised between his teeth.

His eyes raked over her and her little red dress, the soft, blonde curls that framed her face, the velvet, vanilla skin that radiated with golden warmth—with longing—with adoration—with _need_. Caroline trembled as he closed the distance between them, goosebumps springing like blossoming flowers across her body.

"No," she breathed into his ear, collapsing into his sturdy and welcoming arms, "but there _will_ be consequences," she warned.

Klaus chuckled as he cupped her face in his hands, taunting her with the intoxicating sting of his kisses. They tasted sweet as honey and crumbled her will into specks of granulated sugar.

"You can't resist me," he murmured against her hair.

Caroline's hands ducked under the hem of his shirt; her cheek collapsed against the chain of his necklace, her nose drowning in the luscious scent of his cologne; her heart skipped in tapping steps at the thought that this man was hers—and hers alone. Her one, her only, her _forever_. Klaus was her forever, and it twinkled like shooting stars against the black matter of her once-wandering heart: she'd arrived home.

"I never said I could," she whispered in reply, her lips submitting to the buzzing saccharinity that only his lips could provide.

* * *

 ** _Later that day_** :

Organization was key; and in Caroline's world, that meant color-coded checklists, binders overflowing with details, and punctuality. Okay, okay, so that last one received a _bit_ more flexibility today, but it still applied. Asterisks were invented for a reason, after all!

Despite the morning's hour-long _SEX_ terruption, Caroline still managed to prep the turkey, fine-tune the table settings with a ruler—let Rebekah chew on _that_ elegant perfectionism—change the dress that Klaus _accidentally_ ripped to shreds (#HybridZipperProblems), tweak the decorations and flowers, light a candle in memory of her mother, and make a few important _Happy Thanksgiving_ phone calls. Klaus attempted to distract her with his wiles for a while, but soon grew bored competing for attention against dinner details. Party-Planner Caroline couldn't be diverted, and he refused to play second fiddle. Inspired, not to mention invigorated, he eventually retired to his studio to paint…and to _not_ shave.

Guests arrived around 6 P.M. for cocktails and hors-d'oeuvres. Although it was customary to serve a Thanksgiving feast in the afternoon, Caroline had organized a 7 o'clock meal time in order to accommodate her bound-to-be-jet-lagged friends. It had been a while since they had all been collected in the same city, let alone under the same roof.

Rebekah, Enzo, Kol and Bonnie had just returned from a two-week couples' excursion in Hawaii. They hadn't rolled into Kolenzo's Killer Lair—as the goofballs called it—across town until late the night before. Let's just say there was a reason their out-of-control party palace was located near the airport. (Translation: Easy escape access.) Thank goodness Rebekah and Bonnie always knew the perfect way to reign in their boyfriends' willful unpredictability. Otherwise, Klaus would have stuffed them both in coffins months ago…

Katherine and Elijah had returned from London the previous afternoon, where the latter had "business" for the last month. They'd opted for a suite at the Hilton after a late dinner with Stefan and Lexie. Apparently, Katherine had progressed from wine to whining karaoke to dirty salsa dancing and needed to recuperate before coming home.

Caroline had expected the excuse was merely a ploy to avoid the _disgusting honeymooners for another night,_ as Katherine liked to say, but she never objected to extra alone-time with Klaus. Who cared if the whole universe knew they couldn't keep their hands off each other? Though it was impossible to make up for lost time, the two of them certainly had _a lot_ of fun trying.

Before long, the New Orleans mansion vibrated with laughter, clinking glasses, and the smell of delicious cuisine. Groups of people shuffled from room to room to drink, nibble, argue, embrace, and corral. Damon and Elena skirted to wherever Katherine was not; Kol and Enzo greeted everyone with Hawaiian leis and an impromptu hula performance; Lexie, Bonnie, and Rebekah cracked open the booze, which Klaus drank immediately; and Stefan and Elijah smoked cigars in the library.

Complicated history encircled all of those currently in this house, but so did something else: gratitude. Gratitude for life. Gratitude for love. Gratitude for second chances. Perhaps they'd never all get along—and where would the fun be in _that_ —but for Caroline, it was nice to know they could all co-exist peacefully in the same place…at least for a few hours.

After dinner, the girls retired to the sitting room for dessert while the men retreated to the media room for debauchery, war stories, and football. It felt rather Old World traditional, coincidence or not.

"I meant to ask this before," Katherine said as she sipped champagne, "but what's with the Three No-Shaving Stooges?"

Rebekah, Bonnie, and Caroline all exchanged a look.

"It's the new moronic boyfriend trend, apparently," Rebekah replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm forever marveling at how Enzo comes up with these bloody ideas."

A fork clunked against Bonnie's plate as she sliced off a section of her pumpkin pie.

"Oh, please—" she sneered, taking a bite "—like he comes up with them on his own. At least your boyfriend's likely to shave his off at the end of the month. Kol's all about mustache combs and styling these days, so who knows how long this beard-phase will last."

Elena and Lexie chuckled.

"You can't be serious," Caroline said.

"I wish I wasn't," she sighed. "Do you know he actually spent an hour in front of the mirror today trying to perfect the _mustache swirl_?"

"Please tell me you took pictures," Lexie laughed.

Licking whipped cream from her thumb, Bonnie shook her head and shrugged.

"My only consolation is that he gets bored easily—"

"—same with Enzo," Rebekah added.

"—so hopefully he'll be onto the next crazy, laughable thing soon," she continued with a smile.

"And what about Klaus?" Katherine prodded.

"What about him?"

A devious smirk slid across Katherine's lips at the sound of Caroline's sassy retort.

"I must say—I'm disappointed in you, Caroline. I don't expect much from them—" she flicked at Rebekah and Bonnie with indifference as she sauntered to the open space next to her on the sofa "—but you—" she bit into a chocolate covered strawberry "—I didn't expect Miss Hospital Corners to be unable to contain her man's poor hygiene choices," she said tartly.

"This coming from a woman whose _man_ spends his entire life containing all of _her_ spontaneous impulses," she replied with a scoff.

Katherine collapsed back against a pillow hugging herself, probably delighted to have struck a nerve.

"Not all of them," she grinned.

Collective groaning filled the air. While Rebekah griped about not wanting to hear about _Elijah's sordid sex secrets with a Petrova skank_ , Caroline flashed to the bar to retrieve another glass of red wine. Hopefully more alcohol would prevent her from strangling one of her Thanksgiving guests.

"Trust me," Caroline said as she uncorked another bottle, "he'll pay for his no-shaving defiance." Turning around, she smiled and raised her glass in _cheers._ "Soon."

Suddenly, at that precise moment, a loud ruckus erupted from the hallway and halted further conversation from the girls. Raised voices, cracking glass, clanging steps, skidding, muffled laughter, low grumbling, and expletives filled the air and captured their attention, followed shortly by two bodies hurtling—soaring—tumbling—into the sitting room the girls now populated. Kol came in first, flipping over the sofa, and Katherine's champagne-doused head, like a clumsy somersaulter with a _clunk_. Enzo trailed close behind as he slid into the embers of the fireplace with belly-flop flair and head-butted the bricks.

Klaus' voice—full of blood and brutality—could be heard from close proximity.

"Just you wait!" he warned with a growl. "Just you _wait_!"

Rebekah darted across the room to help Enzo to his feet, panic strewn across her features at the sound of her brother's apparent rage.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" she demanded.

"For the last time, you psychotic wanker—" Kol groaned, his hand draping over the back of the couch "—we did _not_ hex you!"

Klaus appeared in the doorway then—eyes round, yellow, and pulsating—flanked closely by a composed Elijah and two snickering Salvatores. He huffed and puffed like a wolf about to kill as fury radiated down his arms, curling his hands into fists, and quivered his lips into a snarl. Hybrid teeth dropped as a malicious hiss escaped his throat.

" _Lies_!" he barked.

The room fell silent the moment he appeared. Everyone gaped, gawked, and gasped. Total…absolute…blinking… _horror._ Caroline's hands flew to her mouth in wide-eyed shock…but nothing could conceal the sound of her high-pitched laugh cutting through the air. Sharp. Loud. Vibrant. It reverberated throughout the quiet room with unmistakable brightness and hilarity, slicing through the quiet tension in an instant.

"Elijah—" Katherine removed herself from her splayed position on the sofa and squinted at her boyfriend "—what the fuck happened to your face?" she asked.

"Would someone please explain what's happening?" Bonnie added, her patience wearing thin. "What the hell is going on?"

She reached for Kol's hand on the other side of the furniture, lifting him to his feet with a harsh tug—and then almost fainted the moment she saw his face.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Forbes—" Elijah started. He maneuvered around his brother and flashed before Caroline, his hand extended in offering. "—but I believe there is something wrong with this bourbon," he said curtly, handing her the bottle "—for it seems to be laced with strange ingredients."

Sure enough, he was correct. With the exception of Stefan and Damon, who howled from near the end table, each one of the Mikaelson men plus Enzo now sported a scraggly beard—complete with a unique assortment of style, texture—and, yes—accessories. Beard ornaments, if you will.

More than that, to make matters all the more bizarre and hilarious, each man's facial beard had customized qualities to it that seemed to reflect aspects of their personality and being. Elijah, for example, being the sophisticated man of polished society that he was, had a silky-smooth, chest-length beard snipped to perfection. It vibrated with Mozart tunes and blossomed with red roses, one of which he plucked and presented to _my_ _Katerina_ with an elegant bow of the head. As the eternal rocker, Enzo and his beard displayed a more coarse, coal black texture and bling-blinged with diamonds, confetti, and springing hearts. Kol's beard depicted the wild and indecisive part of him with its half-finished braids and rainbow-dyed strands that twisted in tangled, tornado knots for no justifiable reason. And then…there was Klaus.

"I will end you for this deception, you imps!" he threatened.

Stomping into the room, he grabbed Caroline roughly by the hand and dragged her with him across the floor. She knew he always felt more secure with her by his side. Whether he meant to kill or to love, it didn't matter; her presence was enough to keep him steady. Focused.

The two accused stood in front of the fireplace with their hands raised in surrender while everyone else watched in silence.

"You were right, Caroline—" Klaus grimaced at Kol and Enzo "—I never should have listened to them—" he spat.

Call her a sentimental, love-struck fool, but Caroline loved Klaus' beard the best. Looking at him right then, she couldn't help it. What could she say—she was biased, okay?

Rapunzel-style, his beard tumbled in beautifully thick, wavy folds of blond to the floor and shimmered with artistic strokes of red, black, and white. In addition to its ridiculous length—which _totally_ represented his want of impenetrable depth, by the way—it adorned the most ornate and breathtaking of accessories: from multi-lingual calligraphies to ocean-echoing seashells to the world's most rare and precious jewels. Timelessness covered his facial hair in a way that bridged old and new and melded them together, drawing lines of history and future possibility around him. It encircled him; it encircled _them_.

All Caroline could do was marvel—in awe, in admiration. Was it possible to think someone absolutely absurd and absolutely beautiful in the same moment? If so, that moment was now. Right this second.

"—And now, no one will listen to them… _ever_ … _AGAIN_!" Klaus continued through gritted teeth.

Enzo and Kol peered back at him, arms crossed. Mischief colored their features.

"Why would I purposely bedazzle my own beard, mate?" Enzo asked with an arched eyebrow. "Do I look like the accessorizing type to you?"

"We _play_ pranks, brother, we don't _participate_ in them," Kol clarified.

They winked in agreement, and then turned their attention back to Klaus.

"I believe the rascals are telling the truth, Nik—" Rebekah interjected.

Pulling her close, Enzo pecked her on the lips and mouthed _Thanks, Barbie of mine,_ to which she responded with a stony stare and said,

"— _this_ time."

Past offences had been forgiven but not forgotten, apparently.

Klaus squinted at Kol and Enzo with scrutiny; and then, after releasing one long, harsh intake of breath, he stepped backwards, assuming a more casual—less killer—stance. His trembling arms, still hot with annoyance, sought refuge and comfort from around Caroline's waist. He tugged her into his chest and tucked her head under his chin, his lips pressing kisses into her hair.

"Then, _who_ , may I ask, is responsible for this?" he asked, addressing the room with sternness.

Caroline melted into his hybrid embrace and beard, relishing in all the soft warmth with a contented sigh.

"I am," she said at last.

Klaus froze in her arms. Pulling back a second later, he rested his hands on her shoulders and lifted her chin to his eyes with his thumb.

"— _You_?" he gaped.

His eyes blue eyes blinked at her all perplexity and amazement.

"Why, you treacherous little minx!" Kol exclaimed, erupting into applause.

"Bravo, Blondie—" Enzo chimed in "—Bravo."

Collective silence and confusion soon transformed into uproarious laughter, bubbling the house in merriment once again. Caroline explained how she had phoned one of her witchy French Quarter friends (leaving out Davina's name, of course) this morning to brew her a batch of Miracle-Beard and how she'd skillfully dumped it in the bourbon while Klaus showered. _He'd been too high on paint and love to notice_ , she'd said. The Three No-Shaving November Stooges were the intended targets for this magic-filled joke, but a bystander found himself caught in the crosshairs. Unfortunately for Elijah, who had been sent a _Don't drink the bourbon_ SOS warning text from Caroline, which both the Salvatore brothers had previously received, he had left his phone in the car.

While Kol and Enzo seemed intrigued by the blinged-out beard trend for Novembers to come, Klaus, much to Caroline's delight, wouldn't be eager to participate again. Ever.

"Why the devil would you do this me?" he complained as they stood before the fall-decorated mantle later.

Gesturing at his ridiculously bedazzled beard, he groaned with humiliation and Caroline couldn't help but laugh.

"I told you—" she beamed, shaking her head "—I told you there'd be consequences for not shaving," she explained.

In lieu of _touché_ , Klaus kissed her passionately on the mouth. Caroline relished in the taste of lips collapsing into lips, of anger evaporating into admiration, of love melding two similar hearts into the steady, synchronized beating of one.

"Besides—" she said, drawing away from his mouth "—if you thought this was bad—" a camera _flash-flash-flashed_ at the same moment they pressed their foreheads together and smiled "—just _wait_ until you see this year's Christmas cards!"

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTE : Complete bearded-out lunacy, am I right? I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **Reviews would be wonderful.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	3. Patience: A Hybrid Virtue

**PROMPT : Caroline goes to Klaus' house after prom (4x19) to thank him, making him realize he never should have left her behind in Mystic Falls + _"I broke into your house because I'm drunk af and now you're making me breakfast"_ AU.**

 **Happy 25 days of Klaroline! This is for Day 2: Season 4.**

 **P.S. I fiddled with the prompts a little. Have at it! :)**

* * *

Toes tangled in sweaty sheets, mouth parched with the taste of stale liquor, Klaus spent the past two night restless—dreaming of pliers. Rusty pliers. The kind that clipped away jagged lapels of flesh and plucked at organ tissue like guitar strings that _strip-stripped_ instead of _strum-strummed_ , all to reveal the sweet tune of revenge his lips no longer whistled. Puckering his lips together and encouraging the notes to, once again, purr across his tongue, he closed his eyes—breathing long and slow and deep—inhaling nothing…but benign oxygen.

Mercy gripped Klaus by the throat, squeezing him hoarse. Mute. No demon words of his would snuff out the light from her smile. No smothering hands would smear the rainbow from her happy sky. No wrecking ball of hybrid proportions would detonate the first love of her young, vampire heart and devastate her to the annihilation of hope, wrapping her in the blanket of despair he too often wore like Batman's cape; the preservation of her cheerfulness had become too dear. The warmth of her contented sigh had retracted his avenging thirst. Not forever, but for one night: _PROM_.

Prom night only.

Tyler's treachery deserved death, but not at the expense of the genuine beauty that Caroline deserved. And she deserved it all, every last morsel. The small town boy could offer her a sliver of happiness that Klaus could not yet supply, so he let him come; he let him stay. He let them dance and kiss and plan and hope. He let them smile a million _hello'_ sand cry a thousand _goodbye'_ s. He let them bask in the splendor of another moment together. The night was hers; the night was theirs—Klaus was not there. Like silence, he clung to the shadows and refused to interfere.

For one night only.

Although he'd never let her know, Klaus had gifted Caroline the only human mercy his hybrid heart still possessed in trifles: selflessness. It sprinkled across his life as sporadically as a salt-shaker, flavoring his days not with prominence, but with tiny flecks of subtlety. He'd never let her know that he'd extended this courtesy for her—how it was _all_ for her.

The secret died on his tongue in globs of flat bourbon. Poured but never drunk.

* * *

Caroline's eyes fluttered shut to amble among glittery Cinderella extravagance and to blush at the collection of mesmerized admirers that gaped as she passed down the staircase, her tingling feet parading her across the floor in swooshing, queenly strides. Champagne glasses clinked; joviality clung to faces, laughs, and people; orchestra music plucked from violin strings, and Tyler felt whole and warm in her arms. _There_. Tyler was there!

She clung to her boyfriend in white-knuckled need—desperate to preserve—her dress twirling around her ankles in elegant ruffles as their mismatched feet blundered through a fox-trot. His tapped while hers rapped; hers spun while his wanted to run. Different rhythms entrapped their feet in the same way that different fabrics now covered their skin. Tyler's scratchy sleeves snagged against the flawless silk around her waist as they moved. It added a discordant note to their beautiful love song that once blared with a chorus of _forever_. Caroline leaned in to kiss her one, true, golden knight, only to fear that he was no longer her refrain.

Clutching kept them close for some time, but snagging continued to push them farther and farther apart. Tyler bowed as they dangled on their last note; and kissing her hand, he assumed his place as her first verse. _Until we find a way_ , he breathed against her skin, _until we find a way_.

A beautiful lyric perhaps, but what would happen if it trailed away…never to return?

Caroline already mourned the familiar regularity of her and Tyler's percussive beat. It still lingered in echoes, making her resistant to this new delicate yet subduing music that vibrated against her heart in long-winded piano runs. It frightened her with its intensity and candor because it pressed the keys with an ageless classicism that she found alluring, not to mention damn-near hypnotic. Danger called to the particles of her golden soul with every orgasmic note—with no intention to destroy, but to enhance. And the king offered her his open, humming hand.

 _Let me show you what the world has to offer_ , Klaus purred, _Let me show you…_

The worst part? She wanted to reach out and take it!

Head lolling back and forth across a pillow, hands flapping before her in defense, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes, Caroline awoke the past two nights hysterical—screaming. She swatted the nightmares from her eyes like a windshield wiper. Tyler was the refrain she demanded her heart to play, not Klaus!

 _Not_ Klaus.

Though she'd never let either of them know, this secret hope died like a fading, fizzling star in the night sky. Wished but never granted.

* * *

For better or for worse, Klaus and Caroline had become each other's most beautiful nightmare. And they'd need more than evasive luck to untie that immortal knot, especially in the small town of Mystic Falls. Not that it'd keep them from trying…

* * *

"You do realize—" Klaus grunted as he stumbled into the study all groggy "—that you'd make a lot less racket if you turned on the blasted light."

It was 5 A.M! What sane person—presumably one who wanted to avoid daggers or death—banged, crashed, and smashed through the bloody house that early in the morning? For all she knew, he'd been asleep! (Truth be told, he'd spent the night counting the swirls of his ceiling fan and dreaming of rusty pliers that pried Lockwood's heart from his chest, but she didn't know that.)

Besides, he wasn't in the mood. Rebekah could take her whiny, _I want to be human,_ drinking to her fucking room. Immediately.

"I always thought you dramatic, sweetheart, but not uncouth," Klaus added.

Lack of sleep and thoughts of Caroline had made him gruffer than usual, but two days of allotted pouting seemed more than generous. To be frank, he was surprised that his sister had returned home so soon. Rebekah usually required time and space away to temper her "crucial" disappointments in life.

After running a hand through his messy curls, Klaus switched on the nearest lamp.

"Well, excuuuse _me_ , Mr. Hybrid Crankypants," she scoffed. "I didn't realize paranoid serial killers had paranoid sleeping _ears_ , too."

His eyes widened the moment the light sprung across Caroline's sofa-sprawled form. She cuddled a bottle of tequila under her arm and smoothed a dress cover over her lap.

" _Cheers_ to disturbing your bloodcurdling dreams of slaughter and revenge, then," she mocked, toasting him and taking a large swig.

Klaus appraised her with surprise from beneath pinched eyebrows.

"And to what do I owe this unexpected breaking-and-entering pleasure?" he asked.

Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Could you put a cork in the smug charm, please?" she snapped. "It's distracting."

Klaus dimpled at this.

"I—I mean annoying," she corrected. "Though, I shouldn't be surprised; it's your most infuriating trait."

"Thanks for the probing assessment, love," he replied drily.

While Caroline shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, a blush reddening her cheeks, Klaus observed her closely from the door archway. Adorned in an oversized Mystic Falls football t-shirt—probably Tyler's—she'd forgone jeans and shoes in favor of a pair of striped-cotton pajama pants and bunny slippers. While she wore her hair high on her head, pulled off her face, stray strands fell across her forehead and drooped against the back of her neck in disheveled blonde tangles; and although the effect was far from disagreeable, it contrasted markedly with her characteristically-pristine appearance. Klaus thought she'd never looked lovelier, smeared mascara and all. Or more compelling.

"You're drunk, Caroline," he stated blankly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I am _not_ ," she argued.

Defiant, she took another sizable swig from the tequila bottle and then wiped a hand across her lips.

"For your information," she started, "I am in full—" _hiccup_ "—sober—" _hiccup, hiccup_ "—command of my whirling pissed off brain, and you—" she paused, pointing a finger at him threateningly "—you have been warned that smiley Caroline—" _hiccup, hiccup, hiccup_ "—is here and no longer smiling."

She crossed her arms and shook her head decisively.

"—And it is all _your_ fault!" she finished.

"Yes," Klaus drawled in reply, repressing a smirk, "that seems to be the common trend, I'm afraid."

"Except I can't hate you!" she exclaimed, clearly vexed. "I should—and God knows I want to—you banished my boyfriend, killed his mother, and tortured me and my friends for _months_ , for crying out loud! But I can't. I freaking should…but I don't."

Caroline threw her hands up in exasperation.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with me?" she groaned, collapsing her face into her hands.

Klaus grinned. He liked Caroline this way, truth be told. She was loose and uninhibited. Free from control. Emotion, not just truth, spilled from her without a filter and he found it refreshing. She'd finally managed to breach their connection with something other than hostility; and while confusion wasn't ideal, it was a start.

…Or so he hoped?

"Is that why you're here, Caroline?" he pressed.

Klaus flashed to sit next to her on the sofa, slowly edging his fingers around the bottle of tequila and removing it to the pillow behind his back. His gaze pierced hers with penetrating anxiety and intensity. And then, he leaned in closer.

"—to tell me that you don't hate me?"

The air grew thick and stale between them, his breath hanging on her answer. So close—and yet, still so far away.

Caroline _pfft'd_.

"Definitely _not_ ," she replied.

Klaus' face fell, if only for a second. Recovering quickly, however, he leaned back and assumed a more comfortable position, tucking a foot under his butt and hugging a pillow to his side. He peered at her with patient curiosity.

"Then, please tell me," he encouraged with a smile, "what prompted you to break into my house…at _5 o'clock_ in the morning?"

Caroline suddenly grew distracted. Not only did she become restless, fidgeting with her daylight ring and the drawstring of her pajama bottoms, but her gaze darted from corner-to-corner of the room, never settling on Klaus for more than two seconds.

"Caroline?"

Still glancing around, she began to drum her fingers against her kneecaps and bite at her bottom lip.

"Caroline?" he repeated again.

Her hesitation to respond made Klaus nervous. Wary. What had she and her band of Mystic Falls hooligans done to undermine him _this_ time?

" _Caroline_ —" The third repetition of her name, which Klaus growled more than uttered, broke her from her abstraction; and she finally turned her attention back to the hybrid. "— _why_ are you here?" he prodded.

A shadow of dread and impending rage had fallen over his face as their eyes met. His hands curled into fists around the sofa cushion fabric and he bent forward, waiting. Why was he always waiting for her? To speak, to act, to confess, to challenge? Why didn't he just—

"Pancakes," Caroline responded.

—That's why. Whatever Klaus predicted her to say, Caroline almost always floored him with something unpredictable. Sometimes she answered in direct contrast to his expectations; and other times, she merely surprised him off his ass.

"I'm—I'm sorry?" he stammered with confusion. Cocking his head back, he released a good-humored laugh. Scratching his chin, he quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "You came here for pancakes?"

"What?" she blinked.

"That's what you just—"

"—No, no, _no_! You misunderstood me," she claimed, shaking her head. "Hoping to avoid a hybrid reunion, I decided to return my prom dress at a time I knew you'd be unconscious…or should have been," Caroline grumbled.

"Sorry to have derailed you evasive plans so cruelly, sweetheart, but I'm a light sleeper," he lied. Caroline would _never_ know how many sleepless nights, how many restless hours, he spent thinking of her. "Paranoid monster and all that," he continued with a smirk.

"Whatever," she said, dismissing him.

Jumping up, she deposited the dress on his lap—complete with a _thank you_ note clipped to the hanger—and began pacing before him.

"Despite my best efforts—" she rolled her eyes "—you're here and you're awake—of freaking _course_ —taunting me in all your crumpled, sexy-scruffed glory, so let me say this quickly," she rambled, turning to face him. "Thank you for the princess dress; it was much appreciated—" _hiccup, hiccup_ "—and I want pancakes."

Klaus chuckled outright at this last bit. How he managed to find this woman undeniably adorable, delightful, and beautiful in the exact same moment she affronted him with scorn, he'd never understand. But he did. Every _single_ time.

"Come on, then—" he started. Catapulting from his seat, Klaus flashed them to the study door in seconds. "—let's make you some pancakes."

"I'm not drunk, by the way," Caroline maintained as he steered her toward the kitchen, "I'm hungry."

Klaus peered at her quizzically, repressing a laugh.

With her nose raised in the air and her feet progressing in tripping, stumbling steps, Caroline moved forward with the stubborn pride befitting of a queen. A drunken queen, mind you, but a queen nevertheless. And only _she_ was prepared to play that part to royal perfection.

"The tequila swimming in your eyes argues differently, I'm afraid," Klaus smiled. "But don't worry, love," he whispered, "I won't hold it against you."

* * *

As it turned out, pancake-making turned out to be a lot more fun than Klaus remembered. He never knew of heart-shaped cut-outs or of flour-fights from across the counter or of batter face-painting from atop kitchenette stools before Caroline endeavored to school him in _all things silly and delicious_ , as she liked to say. The experience made an unholy mess of his kitchen—utensils, ingredients, and maple syrup everywhere—but what did it matter when she seemed so light and cheerful skating across the floor in her bunny slippers? He only wished he had a camera to preserve the moment…or better yet, his sketchpad.

Klaus was dense, but not carefree. Klaus was entertaining, but not exultant. Klaus was serious, but not goofy. That is, he never was as a hybrid…or as a vampire…or as a human for that matter; Mikael and his cruelty always made sure of that. But tonight—tonight Klaus was all of these things and more.

Thank heavens his siblings had scattered to the wind, for they'd surely gape at him for partaking in such human absurdities. Kol, God rest his burnt-to-a-crisp, deranged soul, would ask why Klaus bothered to taste pancakeswhen _you could taste the tantalizing treat before you instead_? Rebekah, still cross, probably opted for a hotel room where she could make moon-eyes at all the Donovan entries in her diary, drawing hearts around his face with red pen. Had she been there, she'd stomp around bitching and moaning about how _you get to indulge in all the human loveliness, while_ I _suffer_ , _you bastard!_ Elijah would clear his throat and say, _make sure you tidy up when you're finished, Niklaus_ , before he'd promptly exit the room.

Klaus had hoped to catch some restless _z's_ before he jetted off to New Orleans later this afternoon (apparently Elijah had uncovered a potential threat there—tedious business as usual), but he found Caroline's company to be better than sleep. Drunk, sober, angry, austere, haughty, sarcastic, flippant, optimistic—he cherished all of her moods. Just being near her in any capacity was sufficient, whether as friend or as foe. Contentment swelled his veins like oxygen in her presence and all he could do was savor the full, fresh air. He breathed Caroline in…and never wished to breathe her out.

"Everyone's always leaving me behind," she griped suddenly, forking a piece of pancake.

"How do you mean?" Klaus pried.

They'd moved to the kitchen table to eat, an array of butter, syrup, brown sugar, and cinnamon splayed across the surface. Though the tequila slowly drained from Caroline's eyes and stomach, she still vacillated in the tipsy realm. Klaus, two chairs to the left, sat with her legs sprawled across his lap and plucked at the bunny ears on her slippers with his thumbs.

"I mean—" she took a bite and sighed "—first, my dad ditched me for a man. He and Stephen visited when they could—but still. We went from every day to every other weekend and daddies just aren't always as inclusive and involved from different zip codes, you know?"

"And then," she continued, "my mom ditched me when I became a vampire. We're cool now and she's accepted it— _me_ —but it still sucked at the time," she explained with a casual wave of the hand. "And Bonnie, Elena, and the Salvatores are _constantly_ leaving me out of supernatural plots, which is _so_ not cool. I'm savy, sassy, and spirited, dammit! Show me some respect!" she demanded, forked raised in the air.

Klaus listened to Caroline with rapt attention, smirking at the humorous bits and frowning at the unpleasant ones. His mind couldn't help but draw parallels between their subjective experiences. Unlike him, however, Caroline rivaled neglect with redemption instead of revenge. Such similar problems they faced, and yet what vastly different solutions they enacted.

"And now—" she paused, drooping her head to hide her face "—and now even Tyler's forced to ditch me for a new world. A new _life_! I could have gone with him," she contended, "I could have!"

Caroline sneered at this and threw her head back.

"Why does _everyone_ choose to leave me behind?" she asked with tears in her eyes. "Why?"

"I wouldn't—" Klaus responded, clearing his throat and meeting her blinking gaze reluctantly "—I would never choose to leave you."

Removing her feet from his lap, Caroline scooted into the open chair next to him and narrowed her eyes into his face.

"You mean, you'd just take me with you everywhere…"

Though Caroline delivered this line as a statement, the trailing off made it sound more like a question than an accusation.

"Only if you wanted to go," Klaus answered. "I'd never force you to do something you did not choose for yourself, Caroline."

"Why not?"

She sounded surprised, but not as surprised as when he encircled her right hand in his and pulled her close.

"Because I believe—" he breathed in soft tones "—that wherein the freedom of choice exists, so does the freedom to be _chosen_. And call it selfish—" he dimpled, peering hard into her blue eyes "—but I wouldn't dare destroy that freedom for either one of us, would you?" he asked.

Releasing her hand, he flashed to the sink with their empty plates. As he turned on the water and began scrubbing, he added with a chuckle,

"Just think of all the possibilities!"

Klaus heard Caroline's head clunk against the table in exasperation as he said this.

"What in the hell was I thinking coming here? Breaking in to return a dress? Drinking tequila, eating pancakes, and spilling secrets with the Boyfriend Banisher himself? Am I _insane_?"

Apparently the food finally soaked up some of the drunken haze, because Caroline had toppled head-long into pancake-shaming reprimands…directed exclusively at herself.

"I sincerely hope I remember none of this tomorrow," she lamented in muffled groans.

"Don't worry, love," Klaus whistled nonchalantly from the sink, "I'll make sure you don't."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you going to wipe my memory or something?" Caroline spat.

"No—" he chuckled. Throwing a dish towel over his shoulder, he flashed back to the open chair next to her and helped her to her feet. "—I'm going to take you home so you can sleep off this crazy, bizarre dream you're having," he said as he dashed them to the garage.

Caroline scrutinized him as she climbed into the car and fastened her seatbelt. Confusion and curiosity marked her expression.

"But I'm not sleeping, am I?"

Klaus, who still perched outside the passenger door that he'd held open for her, grasped Caroline gently by the shoulders as she asked this. As he inclined her chin softly with his thumb, she caught her breath. Probably unsure of what to expect, she trembled as their gaze met and licked her lips in anticipation. Their eyes locked with heady gravity in seconds; and before long, her irises began to swirl in lollipop circles with ready obedience: primed for compulsion.

"Yes—" he sighed gravely, despising himself "—you are sleeping and this was all a dream."

Call it a get-out-of-embarrassment free card or an avoid-future-hostility escape hatch for Caroline, but Klaus knew that compelling her to "dream" their early morning rendezvous was for the best. Not forever, but for now. The truth would flood back to her one day when the universe smiled upon them and his lips imparted a selfless kiss that she'd accept gratefully, and without rebuff.

As it was, Caroline's heart and happiness resided with Tyler for the time being—not that the ingrate deserved her—and while he'd love to see them split up, Klaus didn't want to be the main reason why. Perhaps it was selfish thinking coming from a selfish man, but he didn't want bad blood over smarmy Lockwood to ruin his chance of being _chosen_. He deserved better than that…and so did Caroline.

As he slipped through her bedroom window unheard, Klaus deposited Caroline tenderly on the bed—only to feel her delicate arms clinging to his neck in restraint as he attempted to move away.

"Wait—" she pleaded, holding his face in place.

Leaning up, blinking through eyes half-awake and half-asleep, she pressed her lips softly to his left cheek. There, against his scruffy face, Caroline left a kiss as sweet and as genuine as he knew she could be. She'd bestowed an unexpected gift.

"—Thank you for prom—" she whispered "—thank you for Tyler—" she breathed against his skin "—thank you for pancakes," she smiled, finally surrendering to the warmth and comfort of her pillows with a yawn.

Ducking out the window, pausing only one last time to admire his sleeping (and snoring) blonde beauty, Klaus felt a momentary pang of guilt. Not for the compulsion, but for the leaving. Unlike the others in her life, however, he didn't leave her behind with empty promises—he left her in waiting, full of shared memories and hope for the beautiful future he knew she'd attain one day.

As it was, New Orleans awaited and Caroline wasn't ready to leave her hometown. She wasn't ready to dump Tyler, or to disappear from Mystic Falls, or to disregard her trivial, little human world and traditions…and that was okay. They still had time; they had eternity.

In the end, Klaus committed one small sin in order to preserve the sanctity of free choice. And he could live with that. He could live with that today, tomorrow, and however many more days it took for her to choose him. Klaus knew patience; he would wait.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : Compulsion aside (it's a controversial thing, I know; but there's a little grey to be exploited in everything in life-supernatural, human, or otherwise-which is what I endeavored to show)** **, my new headcanon is that when Klaus kisses Caroline's cheek in 4x23 after his _however long it takes declaration_ , she remembers that her pancake-hybrid "dream" wasn't actually a dream. ****And in addition to being happy about Tyler's freedom/pardon, she's glad to remember this isn't the first time Klaus has demonstrated selflessness. ;)**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it! Reviews would be lovely.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	4. Chasing Promises

**PROMPT : Day 8 + Favorite Quote. _"You'll show up at my door and let me show you what the world has to offer."_ Caroline shows up at Klaus' door years later and repeats it to him. Later, they go and see the world together.**

 **No baby/Hayley, as requested.**

 **Happy 25 Days of Klaroline! :)**

* * *

"Do you know what happens to those who disturb me whenever I explicitly say: _DO NOT DISTURB_?" Klaus growls.

To hell with democracy! Hybridarchy for one, hybridarchy for all! And the sooner these New Orleans wretches understand that _he_ wears the crown—that _his_ word is law—the better!

Still livid, Klaus needs time to seethe…in private. He needs time to calculate the cool, collected swing of his retaliation and to plot how he'll axe these traitorous little scamps into obedience. _All_ of them.

Barred from leaving the house, is he? Imprisoned in this claustrophobic room like a naughty teenager by magically-induced prison bars, is that correct? _Why_. Better yet—what the fuck _for_?

 _Wham. Wham. Wham_.

Klaus has spent much of the day already cracking his iron knuckles against this prison wall, willing brute force to shatter the spell in lieu of magical interference. But to no avail. He has been tricked, trapped, and taunted; and all he can do now is wait—and premeditate in peace.

* * *

 _What the hell is this?_ Klaus had bellowed this morning, appalled as his body had slammed against an invisible barrier. It had forbid him from exiting his bedroom for a butler-draining breakfast. _Is this some kind of bloody joke?_

 _Patience, Nik. This is necessary_ , Rebekah had said from the hallway, coming to stand before his open doorway.

 _Necessary my ass!_ he'd protested, all outrage and command. _Let me out_ — _let me out NOW_! he'd snarled.

Rebekah had rolled her eyes at the sound of his petulance. Born a tyrant, died a tyrant, forever an _undead_ tyrant. (Or so her expression had conveyed.)

 _I can't_ —she'd simpered knowingly, shaking her head as amusement enveloped her features — _not yet, anyway_.

Turning on her heel, Rebekah had waved in farewell and had disappeared down the spiral staircase, her voice echoing from below as she'd added,

 _Prepare yourself for a_ magical _surprise, brother_ …

A surprise? _What_? Klaus hated surprises! And more than that, he hated Rebekah's taunting tone...

 _You'll pay for this, sister!_ he'd threatened, though not yet knowing for what.

Surely it's better to be prepared for the worst, he'd thought.

 _I promise you'll pay for this!_

 _Looking forward to it_ , her voice had jingled in reply. _Your promises never disappoint._

No fear? No regret? No guilt? Nothing but nonchalance and indifference.

 _What in the hell is the_ meaning _of this blasphemy?_ Klaus had lamented to himself.

* * *

Klaus breaks free of the memory, still roaring with rage.

Pray tell, did these New Orleans imbeciles _want_ war in a time of peace? Were they stark-raving _mad_ to provoke the beast with this hot, magical poker? Hybrid rage always, _always_ leaves a long trail of bloody bodies in the name of betrayal—or have his ungrateful subjects already forgotten Hayley's decapitated werewolf head swinging from his stake of victory? Have they already disregarded the most dangerous and deadly rule of all? No one forces Klaus Mikaelson's hand; _no one_.

"Funny—" a voice clucks tartly from behind.

The decanter of bourbon Klaus holds shatters in his grip the moment he hears it, coating his feet in the stinging precipitation of glass and alcohol.

 _I'm dreaming_ — he tells himself— _I must be_.

Soft yet brazen, that voice—how it buzzes full of saccharine poison in the stillness of his dark mind—always yanks him out of fresh hell. Always _did_ , he should say. Those pert whispers always clog his mind in impenetrable fog. Never truly present, that voice, but forever with him all the same.

"—I'd have thought a little blonde distraction would always be welcome?" she questions, a tinge of disappointment lingering on her tongue.

Klaus freezes as her breath flutters across his ear, as her fingers trail along his shoulders and down the open buttons of his green Henley; as they sweep across his stubbly cheeks as delicately as a feather to cup his chin and lower his head. Eyes. Wide and vibrant and appraising, eyes probe him with rawness and singe away years of hidden secrets and delights, unraveling him in thick folds of yarn. Two seconds and— _BOOM_! He's exposed.

"My mistake, I guess," she smiles slyly, squeezing the dimple in his chin.

How many years has it been, Klaus wonders? 2? 5? 10?

Too long. Much too long has her beauty haunted his dreams in marble too exquisite to caress, electrifying his nerves with the charged current of distance. Just out-of-reach. Forever just out-of-touch.

His nerve endings had throbbed for the positive end of his magnet for hours, days, and years; and with that first touch—with _her_ first initiation of contact—the solemnity of her prolonged absence melts away, re-energizing his starved heart like a pacemaker. _Zip, zap_ —awakened from its somber hibernation.

"Too bad—" she pretend-pouts.

Drawing away, she flashes to the bottom of Klaus' bed to perch on the comforter by her elbows.

"—because I came _alllll_ the way here to entrap you into _finally_ cashing in my I.O.U…" she trails off, gesturing at the invisible bedroom prison and grinning "…and I had hoped you wouldn't ask for a receipt," she shrugs.

Klaus' eyebrows raise at this, for surely, this is a surprise—and so is _she_.

"To what do I owe you, Caroline?" he drawls as he approaches the bed in measured steps. "For, I assure you—" he licks his lips as he takes her right hand "—you are always my little blonde _pleasure_ ," he says, bowing his head to place a kiss against her knuckles.

Caroline smiles warmly at this, not at all uninviting. And although she doesn't respond right away, the words— _Good, I'll_ tell _you what I want_ —radiate from the hand she has yet to remove from his grasp.

Observing her there, splayed across his comforter like a ripe fruit, her luminosity blasting taunting shades of desire and longing against his mattress, Klaus is reminded of the eternity of things he still owes to her—of the myriad of wonders he hopes to one day brush across her senses, sculpt against her body, and carve into her heart—and how much he'd like to pluck her from that forbidden tree and take another juicy, delectable bite of her—

—One transient shag in the woods of Mystic Falls wasn't enough. And neither was one rushed admission of attraction that she'd spent two years denying in dismissive, though always enchanting, rebuttals. It never would be—never _could_ be.

"You owe me the chase," Caroline declares matter-of-factly.

The chase? _What_ chase?

"Sorry?" Klaus deadpans.

Sitting down next to her, he scratches his head and gazes at her all bewilderment. Why is this woman always speaking in riddles?

"The wooing chase!" she maintains.

She rolls her eyes at his persistent lack of understanding and scoffs; because apparently, he's a blithering moron incapable of grasping her blatant meaning…whatever the hell it is.

He wishes she'd cut him some fucking slack. He still understands her—most of the time—but it's been a few years. Separation and distance have made him a little rusty in Caroline-translation.

"You know! The wooing chase—" she repeats again; this time, with an air of annoyance, fear—and dare he think it— _hope_?"—where you and your charming, cultured, not to mention _cocky_ , Original ass chase me around the world—"

She pauses here waiting for a flicker of recognition, but when Klaus betrays none she continues,

"—showing me _all that it has to offer_?"

Ah—yes. Now he understands. _Rome, Paris, Tokyo_. Caroline's here to collect on his once-upon-a-time offer to escort her around the world… _wherever she wants_.

Talk about surprises! Apparently his sister wasn't kidding, because this is the most magical surprise in his life…in the world…in the history of the fucking _universe_! But, before Klaus lets hope swallow him whole and chafe him raw with emotion, he needs to know one thing—

"—Isn't showing you the world well within Stefan Salvatore's means, sweetheart?" he asks caustically.

"No."

She responds quickly, without hesitation or irony.

"No?"

Klaus glances at her quizzically—holding his breath with half agony, half hope.

He's well aware that his beloved, perky blonde had found "forever" love with his reformed Rippah friend; and that knowledge, which Stefan had imparted himself during his last visit to the city a few years ago, had threatened to snuff out the hope in his heart forever. He can't compete with Stefan's all-encompassing purity of heart—he couldn't. He _wouldn't_.

Klaus had always supposed that his tainted heart complemented Caroline's in unbalanced equilibrium perfectly, for it teetered like a scale from _strong_ to _weak_ at all the precise moments, never stationary and always kinetic; but if impeccable steadiness and Stefan is what she wanted, then Klaus was willing give it to her…freely. Her heart, her choice, her happiness. To _be happy_ , that's all he'd ever wanted for Caroline—whether it was with, or without him.

"Wouldn't you be happier with _him_ chasing you from country to country instead?" Klaus presses, his voice low and raspy.

" _No_ ," she reiterates firmly.

Caroline flicks her eyes to his face. They're sharp and austere with some hidden emotion that's tucked just behind the blue of her iris, begging for release.

"Are you sure?" he prods, not daring to push his luck and believe the wrong thing.

Caroline softens as she perceives the doubtful paranoia in his expression. And taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she reaches out tentatively—like she's afraid she'll be rejected at any moment—as if he'd dare—to take his hand. A blush colors her cheeks the moment their fingers intertwine and click into place like Legos. But unlike in the past, there's no embarrassment or hostility or hesitation lingering in her face as they touch…only undisguised delight.

For the first time, she offers Klaus encouragement—unabashedly and without restraint. In an effort to further convey her certainty, she bends her head to place a kiss that breathes _yes_ against the back of his hand.

And if possible, Klaus thinks that one kiss could breathe _yeses_ into his skin forever.

"Stefan never had the feet to chase me, only the arms to contain me—" Caroline explains, her steady gaze faltering "—and I'm uncontainable. I'm meant to shine freely and everlastingly like the freaking sun, and I need a man—" she stammers and pierces Klaus with a look, her hands trembling with anxiety and apprehension "—I need a man who won't attempt to extinguish my flames…no matter how hot I burn."

"And as it is—" she smiles brightly, recovering herself to meet his searching eyes, "—I know of only one… _"_ she trails off.

Klaus' breath hitches in his throat in anticipation. No oxygen. No words. Nothing except complete and utter awe.

"— _you_."

Warmth rushes into his chest at this one tiny word, sending beams of happiness firing through his veins like rockets traveling at the speed of light. Please, let his sister magically imprison him all over! He'd do anything to hear Caroline speak that beautiful sentence again for the first time.

His heart lives—his heart is _alive_.

"You've finally figured that out, have you?" Klaus smirks, tapping her playfully on the nose.

Caroline reaches out to him a second time by wrapping her arms around his middle, embracing him and cuddling into the crook of his neck. She closes her eyes and sighs contentedly against him.

"Just be happy it didn't take me a century," she grumbles.

Klaus chuckles against her hair. Oh, how he's missed his little spitfire!

"Where should we go first?" she asks.

"If it's _me_ you choose to have by your side," Klaus starts, "I'll chase you anywhere—" he presses his lips to her forehead, then her nose, then her left and right cheeks "—and _everywhere_ you want to go in this world—"

He tilts his head back for a moment to marvel at the hope he once dreamed, but never believed he'd receive, and smiles at how comfortably and cheerfully Caroline, his one true wish, now rests in his arms. Tracing the curves of her lips with his index finger, he leans in close to whisper like he did the first time he healed her in Mystic Falls.

"—I promise," he swears as their lips collide.

* * *

By Caroline's side, matching her step-for-step, day-after-day, Klaus chases her through every country, every city, and every village in the world she demands to see, silently reveling in each fresh exclamation of amazement and admiration that escapes from her lips. The world becomes an undecorated dessert again and he salivates over the iridescent zest she adds to everything, licking the sprinkled frosting of life from his fingers like it were for the first time. Delicious, crisp, and light to the last drop.

Hand-in-hand, they run with the bulls in Pamplona. Caroline's laugh tinkles the air as Klaus spurs the animals into snarled charging—not with red cloths, but with the hybrid gleam of his eyes. Chair-next-to-chair, they bury their feet beneath the warm Jamaican sand and toast the July sunset with drinks in the shape of a coconut. Caroline wrestles him the in salt water when he refuses to help build sandcastles and calls him a _boring old man_ ; she drags him out of bed at dawn for quiet walks through the Alps; and she coaxes him into posing for photos at every bloody landmark they pass, making sure to comprise inventive hashtags for Instagram: #SaucyInItalia #TrendyAtTheTaj #GazingGodsAtGiza.

Klaus gripes about her compulsive travel blogging because it robs him of _an hour of more pleasurable activities_ every night, but secretly adores Caroline's determination to document their time together. Their shared life and experiences. No woman's ever cared enough about him before to treasure shared moments or to immortalize them in photographs or blogged words. He reciprocates in the only way he knows how—with doting that's Caroline-exclusive and with artwork that's far more expressive than any words that could leave his lips.

Rome, Paris, and Tokyo they save for last, for it's the beautiful crescendo of their wooing courtship; and they're content to marvel at how far they've travelled…together. Klaus chases Caroline's heart in marathon pace, never once tramping on the flaming sunbeams that infuse her with vibrancy. But it's not until they arrive in Paris, that she finally allows him to claim it _in the name of last love_.

"It seems appropriate, don't you think—" she asks, beaming into his face with her hands enveloped around his neck "—to win the wooing game in the City of Love itself?"

Klaus smiles and draws her into his chest.

"Consider it a cherry on top of the perfect sundae, love," he replies as he kisses her tenderly on the mouth, "and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Although Klaus spends the rest of his days chasing after his girl for better or for worse, there's one thing—and one thing alone—that remains his no matter what: Caroline's heart. And as far as surprises go, is any one of them more precious than that? Not in _this_ hybrid's eternal lifetime, that's for damn sure.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : Some light and fluffy Klaroline for you all this time. Also, kudos to anyone who noticed the _Persuasion_ reference I slipped into this drabble. I had to do that at least once, you know? ;)**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. Leave a review and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! :-D**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	5. Make Them Spell Last Love

**PROMPT** : ** _"Klaus woke up that morning to find her dress in shreds by her desk, the scent of her perfume clinging to his skin, the memory of the sounds of her soft sighs vibrating against his collar. Her inevitable disappearance as he slept disappointed him so he pulled the sheets over his head, letting the darkness set in. 'Oh, Caroline. There's no escape,' he murmurs against his pillow." + Klaus and Caroline each make one wish_**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : This one-shot is a tribrid, in that, it could fit into themes for Day 8 + Favorite Quote, Day 12 + Journey, or Day 15 + Growing Up (which I've re-interpreted as growing/developing together :-D).**

 **P.S. This is more experimental in structure than anything else I've written fic-wise so far, but I hope you like it, anyway.**

 **Happy 25 Days of Klaroline, lovelies! :)**

* * *

 ** _L is for lousy liars._**

Poisonous charm, the kind that perforates with chocolate venom and melts the blood of Hershey kisses onto the back of the tongue. British accents that drench her three-syllable name in rose-petalled perfume. Extravagant princess jewelry twinkling beneath the candlelight, and scrolled horse drawings entwined in blue ribbons of honesty. Murderous assholes who sire boyfriends like slaves, flicking those puppet-strings for fun on a tedious Friday evening…

Caroline hates it all. She hates _him_ all.

 _Klaus_.

Yes, Klaus Mikaelson is the epitome of hatred. The face…the man who satisfies her starving, sandpaper veins with disgust. Revulsion. He bows before her like the king he believes he is—offering her the world in gulps of honey blood that reek of cologne. He's all harsh liquor, but as enchanting as frothy champagne. A delectable devil who armors himself in death, but tastes of candy-coated life. He is the hybrid fiend. And yet—

 _Why must my knees tremble at first bite_? Caroline wonders.

xxx

Klaus knows beauty.

The centuries come, the centuries go…but they all scrawl cursive loveliness across his bleak skies with beauty to relish. Beauty to remember. Beauty to revere.

He's perceived it in the thriving of newborn cities and how they pervade beating hearts in tap dance, coloring the world in industrialized culture and ethos. He's cultivated it with his artist hands. He's severed heads in karate-chop and twanged tendons from torn flesh and harvested frail hearts for breakfast. He's rescued the oppressed from humanity, infusing them with the glimmering prowess of eternity.

His siblings, his once-in-a-full-moon friends, they've sought to salvage an ordinary that only now lingers in extraordinary, dwindling time and resources until he demonstrates the dominion of bloodlust. It becomes the royalty he engraves into the core of the world with that formidable _M_ for Mikaelson.

Klaus has seduced beauty into his forsaken mattress again and again and again—a list of names and faces that all crunch into crumbled leaves beneath his naked back, never to see the scars he hides like a map in his eyes—extorting the light his arteries crave like heroin. _His_ for the taking. Always _his_ to possess and drain.

Though blonde and beguiling, this Caroline Forbes is no challenge. She's no stream of light that will refuse to bend to his shadows. And yet—

 _Why must my undead heart alight at first spite_? Klaus wonders.

* * *

 ** _A is for abstraction or assassin?_**

Klaus-bait becomes Caroline's primary occupation. Her friends constantly deploy her to distract the hybrid from the dagger they're about to lodge in his back, hoping to dismantle his supernatural monopoly and to end his reign of terror in Mystic Falls for good. She's the queen in this game of Klaus-chess— _and it's time for check-mate, baby_.

"You're the perfect diversionary tool…" Damon explains, swagger curling his lips as he objectifies her once again. _Asshole_. "He's already obsessed with you."

"Do your job, Blondie. And do it well," he adds with a wave, leaving her to tend to the Original alone.

Oddly enough, Caroline's solitary "job" never feels much like work.

(Not that she admits that anywhere except her subconscious.)

More often than not, she finds herself _distracted_ instead of _distracting_. And although she hates to admit it, there's something captivating about the tattered history Klaus wears in his veins beneath skin-sleeves. How a quiet desert of tales covers his flesh in sandy hues of rejection and distrust, his heart forever parched for that one cactus that's meant to replenish him with liquid devotion. He demands love, but fails to earn it.

Klaus' veins weep for it with every drop of blood that splatters across his body like blobs of paint. By his own strangling hands. His fists spew hate, but his knuckles gush with want of reciprocation.

And for some unknown cause, for some inexplicable reason, Caroline peers straight through his 'pure evil' mirage to perceive the flicker of promise he's obscuring within a sandstorm. She asks to know _why_ in the same way that Klaus asks to know _more_. The sun's brutal heat spotlights them both in streaks of clarity and sincerity.

"I want to talk about you," Klaus maintains.

Despite the dimples and the charisma—that ancient, sophisticated magnetism that always threatens to subdue the _I hate him_ mantra she forces her lips to mutter—Caroline senses his genuine intrigue. Klaus submerges himself in the diversion, in _her_ , long before a single word of trickery leaves her mouth and asks him to surrender. There's no need for flirtatious deception; he's already absorbed…without it.

"Why?" she asks.

He's lived for millennia; she's only lived for seventeen short years. Why not talk about _his_ experiences instead? Men always prefer to discuss themselves.

 _…Don't they?_

"I'm curious about you, Caroline," Klaus smiles sheepishly as he scratches the stubble along his jaw, "and I want to learn anything I can about you. Everything, if you let me."

He slides into the open space next to her on the bench, cupping his hands over his lap and tilting his head.

"That isn't surprisingly, surely?" he asks as their eyes meet.

It is.

xxx

Klaus is a killer, the best this universe has seen. He snuffs out life and love from his galaxy, smothering it out quick like the smoke between a bullet and a gun, long before anyone hears a goddamn, fucking thing.

It's not until Caroline jets across his sky in the blinding light of a comet, however, that gravity refuses to keep his feet planted on the ground. He's no longer steady. He's no longer controlled and collected in black matter. He swirls and swirls and swirls around her like a satellite…begging for the gift of sunlight.

 _Just a gleam, a glimmer, or a glisten_ , he prays.

Yes—Klaus meets his match. He's a killer; she's an assassin that brings him to his knees. Caroline's the blonde assassin who steals his heart before he ever detects a thing.

* * *

 ** _S is for sex, silence, and suffering._**

"Don't watch me leave."

Caroline's tone is more commanding than requesting as she stoops to retrieve her scattered clothing from the forest floor.

"I won't, love," Klaus responds in a low voice, looking away.

He means what he says.

Caroline walking away from him isn't something he wants to watch. To feel. To live.

He thinks he'd rather close his eyes and wake a million years from now with the scent, the feel, and the taste of hot hybrid sexcapades still fresh in his memory. His veins still thrumming with unappeased rapture. Rhapsody. His heart still resuscitating from the defibrillation of her arresting splendor, of the strawberry spice of her kiss that leaves him breathless and panting for another. And another. And another…

"No," she smiles.

Caroline cups Klaus' face gingerly. Her thumbs roam across his cheeks, her gaze searching his eyes with gravity for one long moment before she crushes her mouth against his with haste. The kiss is hard and desperate. Full of thirst and heat and tongue. It suffocates oxygen in pursuit of something more dense and profound— _soul_.

She extracts it from him slowly…excruciatingly…like a dementor. Slurping him through to his skeleton, sparing not the tiniest ligament, tendon, tissue, or muscle, and gnawing on his tender bones with fangs.

"You won't," she breathes against his lips, her hands tight and tangled around his neck.

 _Snap._

 _xxx_

Klaus wakes up minutes, hours later? The full moon mocks him overhead in haunting white, her vanilla scent clinging to the skin beneath his throat like an invisible scarf, choking him. The wind's deaf—mostly silent—purring with only a faint echo of the soft moans she'd left against his chest in the throes of pure pleasure—limbs, and lips, and lives melding into golden, transcendent passion—his fingers coiled around the shredded straps of her top, his vision blurred and his neck bruised from the forceful _snap_ from her soft hands. Delirious and crestfallen, he realizes he's alone in the woods again. Because Caroline…

 _Caroline is gone_.

He has no idea how long it's been since she left him here.

Never purposely cruel or impolite, however, she leaves a farewell note in the phone she's buried within the fabric of her torn shirt. A message. It flashes _1 unread text message_ in the palm of his hand:

 _Remember your promise._

Klaus sighs as he reads it, tucking the phone and shirt into his jacket pocket a moment later for safe-keeping. Two mementos of transient happiness that he'll treasure forever.

Rolling onto his back, he cradles his head in his hands and peers up at the cloudless night sky, willing the constellations to confide in him which promise Caroline means: the promise to stay away, _never to return?_ Or the promise to wait, _however long it takes_?

Ambiguity blows across him like a breeze and tickles goosebumps across his heart.

"Oh, Caroline," he moans into his leafy pillow, "there's no escape from this fervent hell called hope, is there?"

* * *

 ** _T is for thinking out loud, for thinking tongue-tied._**

"I slept with Klaus."

 _Scrub. Scrub. Scrub._

"I slept with Klaus."

 _Scrub. Scrub. Scrub_.

"How in the _hell_ could I sleep with Klaus?" Caroline exclaims as she removes her rubber gloves, throwing them into the soap bucket.

Stress cleaning does not sanitize steamy sex. Stress cleaning does not sterilize similar hearts now separated by states. Stress cleaning does not sanctify sinners for speaking see-you-never oaths they aren't sure they want to speak. Or shout. Or swear.

"Do I want a _forever with goodbyes_ or a _goodbye forever_?" she asks aloud.

Amid the soap suds she's streaking across the floor, Caroline's tongue double-knots and refuses to answer.

* * *

 ** _LAST is a word that proceeds moments, happiness, and promises._**

It is the final tick-tock of the hanging wall clock. It is the closing line of a rhyme so sublime. It is the period after a myriad of commas, colons, dashes, and question marks.

It is the end.

It is the ultimate.

It is the conclusion.

 _Last_ is the only shot that fires through the air from the gun and done; because there's no more room for those who haven't won.

* * *

 ** _L is for legends of lonely lanterns._**

Klaus hears tales of black winter nights lit by summer fireworks. How they return in fiery pomp to detonate dynamite and daylight dragons throughout the snoring world that's still hibernating—still comatose and cold amid wishful dreams, longing for the renewal of spring that never seems to come. They kiss nightfall awake with flames and drown skies in humidity too dense to deny. A moisturizing ride that rains the season of love, now reciprocated, against the no-longer-sleeping tide.

Holding his breath, Klaus studies the horizon with hopeful eyes that stick like glue. The adhesive never drips from his eyes in heated tears of _'_ forget her' no matter how many days, weeks, or years he spends without kerosene for the lantern he still wears around his neck. It's lithe and loose against his chest; it dangles in pendulum _swing-swing_ above his heart. Waiting.

He never forgets.

He never neglects.

Lost, lonely, and lightless, Klaus waits in dusk for the sound of Caroline's incandescent sunrise that he swears still shines. Not here, not there…but somewhere.

* * *

 ** _O is for once upon an orphan._**

Abhorrence. Atrocity. Abomination.

How often do these insults still ring in his ears in derisive echoes and bloody his eardrums? Every day for one thousand years. Every fucking day is a haunting, taunting reminder of the self-existence that his father deems worthless. Wasteful.

 _No one cares about you, boy_ , Mikael spits out with disgust.

To him, to Mikael, to the _original_ Original monster who springs from the Mikaelsons, Klaus is forever a wasp to be compressed—compacted— _crushed_ —beneath the soles of loathing and revulsion. No love stamps from that man's steely ankles. No appreciation wrings from that man's nails as they slice into skin around another's neck. No tenderness carves smile lines or dimples around that man's twitching lips. Never. Not once.

 _No one cares about you. No one cares about you. No one cares about you…_

Klaus sees—hears— _feels_ —Mikael's mantra chanting at his open and closed eyes. Every day. Every night. All the time.

Still a human child some place way, _way_ , deep-down, he sends mute prayers to the Viking Allfather, Odin, and wishes for another stray heart to adopt him. To take him home.

"Not to kick," Klaus prays, "but to kiss."

xxx

Caroline remembers childhood days full of _faith, trust, and pixie dust_ and how she'd spent quiet days, and quieter nights, curled up on her window-seat tapping at glass that would never set her free. She reflects on her once-upon-a-Peter-Pan-princess dream where she'd always hoped, to one day, meet a flying heart with wings. She waits to meet the one man destined to pull her from behind the paned glass and who will show her wondrous, beautiful things. Twinkling bright into the night, he'd perch there in his second star that flickers just before the morning light and appear to claim her.

But only when the time was right.

"Why is it always _goodnight_ , but never _tonight_?" Caroline had asked the sky, forever in plight.

Before long, the years pass and men's hearts begin to show—some say _no_ , while others continue to grow.

Damon calls her _vapid and useless_ and recants only long after she turns into a vampire. Matt thinks her shallow, only to later realize that she's insecure. Tyler finds her bitchy, bossy, and too bubbly, but soon learns to love her compassionate loyalty and devotion. Stefan says it's _never going to happen_ but then uses their friendship to bolster his Elena-loss, both of them misinterpreting unconditional love for romantic love.

All these hearts fall into her hands or plop down in front of her feet, but not one of them fly her away—far above the busy streets. Not one of them declares her's as The One He Came to Meet.

"Is it wrong," Caroline questions the fading night sky like an orphan girl "to wish for one man who waits just for me?"

* * *

 ** _V is for vagabonds and vindication._**

Klaus vivifies into reverent astonishment at first sight.

"I'm freaking starving!" Caroline blurts.

She drops her suitcases into the middle of his floor with an exaggerated _thud_ and skips over to him.

 _Is this truly happening_?

"I will never, ever fly coach again, okay? _Never_. Did you know that I got wedged between some divorcé wailing about his ex-wife's tomato soup and also some college chick with eyebrow tattoos who wouldn't stop showing me pictures of stray cats? I mean, talk about bad luck!" she exclaims.

"Pity," Klaus says as he recovers himself slowly. "Is there anything I can do to appease you now, love?" he smirks.

Caroline saunters before him and pats him on the chest graciously.

"I need three things from you:" she says as she counts them off her fingers, "Blood, beignets, and…" she pauses, a wicked smile dancing across her lips as their eyes meet, "a bed."

She shrugs at the same moment Klaus' breath hitches in his throat.

"I think I'll stay awhile. That is—" she baits him, biting her bottom lip coyly, "if it's okay with you?"

"I think that can be arranged," Klaus replies, all dimples and delight.

xxx

Caroline isn't sure how she ventures to Klaus— _of all people—_ in New Orleans— _of all places_ —but she does.

There's something magnetic about the ancient man and place that tugs her closer like an electron headed for the nucleus; and before long, she's submerged in the genuine beauty of his protons and neutrons, too thick and tangled in them to dare trying to escape into orbit away from him. Again.

 _No_. There's no leaving this nucleus once Caroline arrives amid its power. It's all-encompassing, this looping gravity. Complete.

Believe it or not, she finds security and solace among the subatomic particles she never realized she'd needed. Elijah becomes her moral companion, her partner in preserving tact and elegance; Rebekah develops into the bitchy, bickering sister she's always wanted, the kind who always owned clothes that Caroline could steal whenever those in her own closet had an attitude; Freya indulges her try-new-things whims by saying that she's _still making up for lost time_ ; Finn always senses the perfect moment to sweep her out of the room during a Mikaelson squabble; and Kol morphs into her Bandit Brother of fun, forever helping her to undermine Klaus' inflexible severity.

This city becomes her home. These people—Originals, witches, werewolves, and vampires—they become her friends, her selected family. This person—this rage-a-holic, yet tender, conundrum of a man—this hybrid king—he becomes the sovereign commander of her once-wandering heart.

"My vagrant days are over," Caroline admits casually to Klaus one day with a sigh, "for it seems my heart has finally settled down for good—" she traces his jaw in long, languid lines and meets his penetrating eyes with a smile, "with _you_."

Though no words of response leave him after she speaks, she feels how the kiss he pours against her lips rains with absolution for the first time since they met all those years ago in Mystic Falls. And because of this, Caroline knows (as well as senses), that Klaus cherishes the declaration of love that he's always hoped, but never truly believed, he'd receive from her.

That is, until now.

* * *

 ** _E is for eclipsed in everlasting earnestness._**

"This is random, and you'll probably think me ridiculous," Caroline rambles, her eyebrows crinkling in thought "but I can't think of anything—not a _single_ freaking thing—that I've given you since we first met?"

It's the middle of December, their first holiday season together, and they're snuggling beneath a fuzzy red blanket on a sectional watching _Christmas in Connecticut_.

She's insisted on a Christmas-themed movie marathon this quiet Sunday evening, complete with cartoons, wine, and sugar cookies, and who is Klaus to refuse? Caroline in silky pajamas is pure heaven incarnate.

Truth be told, these are the moments he loves best. Most. He's not sure why, but there's something about these commonplace, _just being_ moments that highlight the comfortable intimacy he and Caroline share. And that makes him feel content for the first time in a millennia. Truly happy. (And if that isn't a fucking Christmas miracle, Klaus doesn't know what is.)

He nestles further into the couch, visions of Caroline sugar plums still dancing in his head.

"Not one gift, not one present. You know, aside from the shovels of sass I hurled at your face for years," Caroline continues.

As she leaves a half-proud, half-regretful pat against the arm that's draped around her waist, Klaus's chest rumbles with laughter.

"But seriously," Caroline shifts to the right, throwing her legs across his lap as she looks up into his face "I suck!"

"You've showered me with such lovely things over the years. Jewelry, dresses, drawings, first loves, freedom—you name it! And in return, I've gifted _you_ nothing except lip and grief. I—I suck!" she repeats again, throwing her arms into the air.

Unperturbed, Klaus smiles and reaches out to place a kiss against each of her hands. The action, though it's meant to be reassuring, does little to quell her anxiety.

"Is there anything I can—" she begins in a low voice.

At this, Klaus shakes his head and fixes her with a look so intense, so full of emotion, that she stops mid-sentence.

"Caroline, Caroline," he drawls with a chuckle as he massages her hands in his, "you offered me an honest heart from the moment we first met. You gave me _you_."

"And I assure you, sweetheart," he continues, his tender gaze radiating truth into her eyes like a sunset that's finally found peace in the night, "from the bottom of my eternal, undead heart, that gift is not only adequate…"

He pauses to squeeze inexpressible gratitude into her hands.

"It is _everything_."

* * *

 ** _LOVE is the fire red that evaporates the icy blue._**

Love builds.

Love bolsters.

Love blesses.

It is the instrument that skips over the discordant notes of the past to play the harmony hidden among all the flats and sharps. It is the hand that Kleenexes all those unfair tears, that bandages all those scabbing scars that once cracked hopes and fractured dreams, savoring the gritty beauty it finds in the dirt it wipes from faces, fists, and flesh. It is the resilient heart that bends and bruises and bleeds, but never breaks.

Love bands red with blue. It bands _me + you_ and solidifies not one, but _two_.

* * *

 ** _LAST LOVE is the learned legacy of two lucky liars._**

Although it takes years and quite a few honesty mirrors to demolish all the denial that exists between them, Klaus and Caroline skip, skirt, and skedaddle through the letters to combine their similar hearts in phrase. Hand-in-hand, heart-in-heart, the hybrid's once-upon-a-Mystic-Falls promise now makes them feel smart. Now the best spellers in the world, Klaus and Caroline become two words that _never_ , ever part—because the undying truth of _last love_ is far sharper than hitting the bullseye with a dart.

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTE: The idea for this came after the song L.O.V.E. by Frank Sinatra/Nat King Cole got stuck in my head. I thought it would be fun to explore the progression of Klaus and Caroline's relationship through each letter of the "last love" quote. Thoughts?**

 **Reviews would be lovely.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	6. Heart Bidding

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is Part 1 of a 2-part Klaroline+Literati human AU drabble. It's reminiscent of episode 2x13, _A Tisket, A Tasket_ from Gilmore Girls where Jess and Dean engage in a little tug-of-war for Rory's company. Whether or not you've watched the show, you'll be able to follow it. ;)**

 ** _DISCLAIMER : ***Forwood's relationship dynamic was manipulated for the purpose of this story.***_ **

**Happy reading!**

* * *

" _ **Beware how you give your heart."**_ — _Northanger Abbey_ , Jane Austen

* * *

"I can't believe this—" an incredulous laugh escaped his throat "—you're actually choosing to spend the day with that city-slicking, rebel-without-a-cause _asshole_ over own your boyfriend?"

"I didn't—I don't—He just—" Caroline stammered.

With the Mystic Falls community crowded on the lawn in the town square this uncharacteristically warm February afternoon, _ooh_ 's, _ahhh_ 's, giggles, and shouted numbers echoed in the air around them.

"He's not a good person."

"Please don't say things like that, Tyler," she said, fixing him with a disapproving look. "You barely know him. None of us do, really. Maybe there's a reason he's so moody and destructive?"

She twitched unconsciously at this. Surprised by her own words.

"He's been here for a few months now, but still, no one knows much about his past. You know, aside from rumors."

He scoffed.

"I know enough, trust me. I know _more_ than enough."

"That's not fair and you know it," she retorted, crossing her arms.

They'd retreated behind the gazebo, away from the spring festival enthusiasm, to talk in private. To resolve a problem. The romantic outing Caroline had coordinated for this Saturday afternoon, down to the floral dress, bonnet, and perfect red lipstick she'd worn—well, let's just say it hadn't gone according to plan…

"I don't give a shit if it's fair, Caroline. He vandalizes our town with that graffiti garbage he calls 'art'…he steals beloved artifacts from neighbors, just for a laugh…he threatens and manipulates wherever and whenever he can…I mean, look!" Tyler exclaimed angrily. "He's instigated this whole fight between us! Just face it—the guy is bad news."

"He doesn't belong in Mystic Falls." He shook his head, muttering half to himself, "I've known it from the moment he first arrived…"

"Stop."

Caroline reached forward at this, rubbing her hand across Tyler's chest. Sweetly. Soothingly. She leaned in and rested her forehead against his.

"Please, _please_ , stop," she begged in a soft voice. "I know you're upset, but this isn't you—this isn't the real you talking."

Tyler's voice was low and harsh.

"Yes," he stressed, "it is."

Without opening her eyes, Caroline raised her hand to his face, tentatively, to place her fingers against his quivering lips. Quieting them. Preventing them from saying something awful, from uttering the kind of words they could never take back.

His heartbeat slowed into a more tranquil rhythm at the action and his muscles loosened, becoming a little less stiff.

"I love you, _only_ you," she expressed a little desperately, "but you're acting like—" she paused to blink at him all scrunched forehead and crinkled eyebrows "—you're acting as if you—"

Tyler bent his head as if in surrender, hiding anguish beneath dark eyelashes.

"—I hate him," he breathed.

Bleeding. Her ears were bleeding.

"I do, Caroline. I hate him," he reiterated again; this time, without remorse.

She jetted backwards at the words like Tyler had scalded her. Her right heel slid into one of the cracks of the sidewalk, throwing her body and heart off-balance at the same instant. See-saw, see-saw, they went—dousing her, and her relationship, somewhere between disappointment and disease.

"I hate him with every vein, with every muscle, with every pumping fiber of my being, and I'm asking you—I'm on my knees here—" he continued, coarseness clinging to every word.

Poison.

All Caroline felt was poison. Spilling out, seeping in. Infiltrating everything.

Never, not once in the year that they'd been a couple, not once in the ten years that they'd been friends, attended the same school, or lived in the same town, had Caroline heard venom so raw or unapologetic spring from Tyler's mouth about another person. Never.

Anger? Yes. Hatred? Disgust? Absolute revulsion? No.

He was consumed with it, ravaged to the point of delirium, that all-encompassing mania, and Caroline couldn't swallow that lump of doubt that burned like acid in her throat when she thought about their future. Their relationship. _Wrong_. This felt wrong. All of it.

Tyler was being too severe, too unreasonable, too…domineering.

"—I forbid you to do this. Don't," he commanded, eyes boring into her with insistence, "don't you _dare_ go anywhere with him."

Looking at her boyfriend—twisted—contorted—with judgment and jealousy, emotion clogging his throat, rage balling his fists into ticking bombs—Caroline felt like a stranger now stood before her and squeezed dominance into her hands, willing it to temper her mind into submission. He wanted her to yield. To _obey_.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bossypants," she said tartly, "but are you freaking hearing yourself right now?"

Tyler rubbed his lips together; and although he didn't speak, he seemed unmoved. Unremorseful.

"Don't you trust me?" she asked.

"No," he replied bluntly, "I don't." He shook his head. "Not with him, never with him."

Caroline drew back—the words blasting across her chest like a bazooka. Mind= blown. Heart= blazing. Broken she was—not with fear, but with shock.

"I will not stand by—" he compressed his jaw, speaking through gritted teeth "—and provide that Shakespeare-quoting thug with an opportunity to worm his way further into your life," he said, "or into your heart."

She blinked at him hard, her eyelashes becoming windshield wipers that cleared the infatuated fog free from her mind. All became stark. Bleaker than bleak.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Caroline exclaimed. "He can't worm his way anywhere!"

"He's a thief who takes what he wants, Caroline," Tyler explained, "and he wants _you_."

She threw her hands into the air and tossed her head back with exasperation, groaning, rubbing her throbbing temples.

"He does not," she argued. "He—he just—he just likes to get under my skin, to rile me up. And he gets some kind of sick, twisted pleasure out of throwing knowledge at me that I don't understand, challenging me to retain it or something? It's nothing, I swear. You're being—" she paused, licking her lips, pointing at him all flustered and distracted "—this is insane! Absolutely crazy!"

"It's not."

"I'm already _yours_ , you idiot!" Caroline cried. "Why are you throwing that away with both hands?"

"I'm not—" he said coldly "—you are."

In the space of a moment, Tyler had become someone unrecognizable to her. Foreign. Alien. Never had he thrust an ultimatum upon her, never, _ever_ ; and naively, she'd believed he never would.

In the space of four words, a sentence, he'd slaughtered trust for doubt; he'd murdered love for threat; he'd shredded freedom for dominance, covering himself in the crusty, green scales of a crocodile that chomp-chomped through jealousy like it was his only meal left. Who _was_ this man? This angry, ravenous reptile?

"It's a picnic he won, Tyler, a freaking lunch," she said. "He gets an afternoon of idle chatting, eating, and sassing… _not_ me."

She huffed as she turned her back on him. Arms crossed. Was this conversation really happening right now? Seriously?

"How dare you make me feel guilty," she muttered accusingly, still shaking her head at the ground. "Following the contest rules does _not_ make me a bad girlfriend, okay? Or a disloyal one. It just doesn't."

"For God's sake, Caroline!" Tyler exploded, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "No one cares if you break some stupid, basket-bidding rule for some lame, 200-year-old festival!"

Someone cleared his throat nearby.

Tyler and Caroline froze. Their argument fell silent on the wind. Silent, but not forgotten.

"Sorry to intercede during your passionate, alpha-male display, mate—" said a taunting, accented voiced. Though the man's visage remained shrouded in shadow, rugged arrogance and charm passed from his lips as he spoke. "—but _I'd_ care."

The man's words, while not fully offensive, weren't fully civil either.

Tyler's expression hardened, causing the blood to pulsate the vein above his right eye.

"Go away, Klaus. No one wants you here."

"That may be true on your end," he clucked in reply, "but I'm afraid I can't do that." His smile, though not visible, could be sensed. Felt. "Not until I collect my winnings," he added.

Indignant, Caroline scoffed.

As Klaus strode across the deck of the gazebo, the weak February sunlight cast him in a muted silhouette—half color, half not—which heightened his already-ambiguous air, cutting him in seemingly ancient shades of grandiose. Greatness. There was something daunting about the young man who was no more than seventeen. In look, in manner. Something intoxicating—almost drowning—like a vortex.

Stare at him long enough, and there was no escaping the force of him; he'd drag sense and spirit away with an undertow. Never to breathe again. Never to return. He strangled with only two options: die or thrive.

Dressed in a green Henley, the top two buttons open to reveal a peek of the dark necklaces beneath, a pair of Aviators pushed back to rest atop his blond curls, and dimples dented with mischief, the only thing missing from this swaggering Bad Boy was a cigarette—which he could procure from his back pocket, most likely—poised between his lips. Power and poise exuded from him. When he spoke, when he moved. And he knew it, too.

Klaus, slumping his leather jacket across the railing, rested his elbows across it casually.

"I said," Tyler growled, anger continuing to build, "go _away_. We're talking."

"And as _I_ said," he repeated mockingly, "I can't."

Unrolling a scroll of paper he held between his fingers, he cleared his throat for a second time and read,

" _For_ _he who bids the highest love_ (or in this case, funds)—meaning me—" Klaus peered down at the couple like a triumphant king: all smug and smiling "— _wins the fairest, basket-maker heart and picnic to be won_. _And—_ herein lies my point of contest to your attempted thwarting, Tyler," he continued with a grin "— _the pleasure of her company, which lasts until the setting of the sun."_

"Now, I may be new to Mystic Falls," Klaus drawled, "but since you lost, I believe that holding your girlfriend hostage would be against the rules here."

While he flicked the scroll with his middle finger, waving it through the air for emphasis, Tyler became more erect, the muscles in his shoulders grew more tense, and he narrowed his gaze not at Klaus, but at Caroline. He reached out and clasped her by the hands. Tenderly, yet, territorially.

"Rules were made to be broken, right?" Tyler prodded, his grip on her strengthening.

Dropping her head to avoid her boyfriend's scrutinizing eyes, shuffling her hands uncomfortably, she stared at the ground.

"Right?"

The pressure he placed against her wrists, though more pleading than painful, vibrated with significance. Implication. The message was clear— _Stay with me. Don't go. Stay, stay, stay_.

It was a command, not a request, wholly absent with one thing: trust. And that wasn't okay. It hurt; it weeped from her in droplets of pain. Disappointment. Why should she pretend that it didn't? Why should she hide the truth?

Caroline flicked her eyes to his face. Feeling strong. Bold. The beat of a drum—that _tap, tap, tap_ —it was a sweet percussion that filled her voice with power. Words.

"It's tradition, Tyler," she argued. Standing tall, she lifted her chin. "I don't have a choice."

He dropped her hands immediately, like she'd electrocuted him, and backed away to the curb, seething with a mixture of disbelief and betrayal.

"Nonsense, love. Of course you do. You always have a choice; no matter what, no matter when, no natter with whom… _always._ "

Klaus hung on this last word as he pierced Tyler with a stern look, a warning, as he descended the gazebo steps; it erected an unspoken challenge between them. A battle loomed. It stalled only to listen for the _bang—_ that first gunshot.

"That being said," he continued in a lighter tone, catching her eye, "I admit that I _much_ prefer to be the winner. The Chosen One, so to speak. Ultimately, however—" he paused to move the picnic basket into his other hand "—it's up to you, Caroline. Either way, whatever it is you decide—whether you choose to stay or to come—I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

He bowed his head at her with honor and integrity.

"I won't bite," he smiled encouragingly.

Though Caroline considered Klaus to be a master wordsmith, the type of guy who knew exactly what to say and how to say it, she softened automatically as he spoke. She believed what he said; she wasn't sure why…

"She didn't ask for your opinion," Tyler spat, his feet still poised on the edge of the curb.

"She didn't ask for a bully, either," Klaus grumbled in reply, "yet you're still acting like one."

After this, both men fell quiet. Two opponents preparing for the proper moment to pounce, they primed their pumping hearts full of adrenaline…and hoped. Staring and glaring at the young woman who separated them like a referee at a sporting event. Listening for the whistle that sounded victory for one, and defeat for the other. Would it be one? Or would it be none?

Cheers from an invisible crowd flooded their ears as Klaus and Tyler watched and wondered, wondered and watched:

 _Choose, Caroline!_ the crowd encouraged _. Choose, Caroline, choose!_

* * *

Her heart fluttering like a caged hummingbird, Caroline glanced back-and-forth between them. Torn. Should she soar or should she perch?

To her right, stood Tyler—assuming. Still expecting her to come. To follow. To adopt his Mikaelsson prejudice without question, without investigation, and hate, hate, hate. There was something about the look in his eye and the stubborn tilt in his brow that managed to highlight his inability to listen today, to compromise—hell—just to _try_. He wanted her to think the same, act the same, _feel_ the same way about this basket-bidding business, about spending a few hours alone with Klaus.

…Or else.

Everything had become black and white. Yes or no. Do or don't do. All or nothing. It sharpened that slice of worry in her lungs, cutting it open larger—wider— _deeper_ , and she found it harder and harder to breathe. In fact, she wheezed.

Was it possible not to break under such rigidness, Caroline wondered? Not to injure parts of herself that, just now, starved for air? Was it?

To her left, stood Klaus; and although he was attentive, perhaps a little anxious for her to say something—anything—so he could move out and away from this blasted gazebo, his expression remained stoic. Almost indifferent. Were it not for the intensity of his gaze, which seemed to x-ray her with steadfast longing, she would've had no window into his mind. Noticing it and peering into him, however, had revealed something unexpected: he waited.

There was no rush. There was no expectation. He'd left a key on her shoe and had asked her to choose a door. Not demanded. _Asked_.

Hands-in pockets, feet crossed casually, one over the other, he loitered nearby and tuned his ears to the radio frequency of her desire. _Her_ wish. Waiting to hear the song that _she_ chose with fingers that twiddled against the dial. Curiosity loomed in his body language, in the open set of his shoulders, as his foot leaned forward with rhythmic _tip-tap_ to break the haunting silence and to ward off the fear that she'd choose something with a dissonant beat, something completely out-of-sync with him—but he never interfered. Too swept up in the trembling beauty of option, her option, he didn't dare.

Why was she so surprised to uncover flexibility in a control freak, Caroline thought? To find understanding in a man who most people labeled _selfish_? And _heartless_? Was it possible to misinterpret enlightenment for blindness? Was it?

* * *

Caroline looked up—because conflict had gone. Disappeared into clouds no longer gray.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, veering to the side, refusing to make eye contact with anything except the grass. "Hate me if you want; I don't care."

As her footsteps pattered away along the sidewalk, Tyler sighed and Klaus dropped his head reflexively, dejected and defeated, only to have it jerked to wide-eyed attention the moment Caroline rammed him in the shoulder and stormed past, ripping the picnic basket from his grasp as she went. He gaped for a moment, not quite understanding, then trailed after her like a puppy following crumbs. No—bumbling fool or not, there was no time left to waste.

After all, it wasn't every day that the heart-bidding war dwindled from 2 to 1…

"Excuse me, miss," Klaus called after her in quick-stepped pursuit, "but I believe you've stolen my lunch."

Watching this, Tyler grunted _basket-bidding blows_ at their retreating backs, then darted across the street to the Mystic Grill to drown his seething, sore-losing butt in greasy onion rings and carbonated soda. He no longer had any need of good breath or a good body today, did he?

Caroline replied to the former without breaking stride, without offering one backwards glance at her boyfriend,

"Listen, mister, I haven't stolen anything. It's simply not yours anymore, that's all."

"Is that so?"

A playful air about her, she shrugged.

"And here I thought I won it on good faith!" Klaus laughed. "If it's not _my_ lunch…then whose, may I ask, is it?" he asked. "Yours?"

He slung his arms behind his back as he took his place to her left. Light and comfortable his steps became as they meandered through the bustle of the crowd, going nowhere and anywhere all at once.

"No, not mine—" she paused in her walking to throw a coy look over her shoulder and to allow him time to catch up "— _ours_."

"But winner or not," she continued, looking away quickly while twirling the basket handle on her wrist, "if you don't find a place for us to picnic soon, I swear I'll eat the homemade pie without you," she warned.

Klaus smiled at this; for as it happened, he knew the perfect place. Secluded, quiet, and beautiful, it was the one and only location in Mystic Falls where he believed heart- _bidding_ could bloom into heart- _winning_ …or so he hoped.

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTE:** **I modeled Tyler's character in this more after Dean from GG, who can be a jealous and almost-controlling boyfriend, but also did my best to maintain some of his canon sensibilities. Namely, his anger. I know he probably feels different, but it was necessary for this AU. _*bites nails nervously*_ **

**There's a lot of Forwood angst in Part 1 (it demanded to be written), so the Klaroline "picnic" fluff will come in Part 2.**

 **Anyway, review and let me know what you think. Thanks so much for your continuing support!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	7. Heart Spinning Toward Winning

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** : **Part 2 of my Klaroline-Literati Fusion AU for the lovely Michaela.**

 **P.S. Thanks to you, dear readers, for sticking with me. Your support bolsters me full of encouragement and inspiration.**

 **Have at it. ;)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

" _ **Suddenly, she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast.**_ "

— _Gone with the Wind_ , Margaret Mitchell

* * *

Surprised, aghast, perplexed, stunned, bemused, amazed—Caroline knew there were no shortage of synonyms to describe the unexpected curve balls pitched at her today. In words, in action, in heart…in men.

Two men, to be precise: Klaus and Tyler. Tyler and Klaus.

Those two names, those two faces, they dizzied her thumping mind as she shuffled back-and-forth between them like a baserunner trapped in a rundown. Quick, un-catchable feet kept her moving, but their open, grasping gloves kept her slipping and skidding. Stuck, stuck, _stuck_. Where to move? Where to hide? Where to freaking _slide_?

Ahead or behind, Caroline felt the certainty of a tag against her body. Either way, no matter which base she picked, she'd become the third out of the inning for one of those two men. The final out that spelled victory. She'd become the claimed prize hoisted on his shoulders to show the cheering crowd.

Wouldn't she? _Of course she would._ Tug-of-war wasn't the kind of game any man dared to forfeit.

Much to her astonishment, however, the sound of the umpire's resounding _SAFE_ suddenly swept across her dusty limbs and filled her ears—for Klaus had dropped his mitt and stepped aside, making room for her head-first, arms-out and open, slide. He'd left his base un-guarded and free for her. It was Caroline's for the taking; and she took it.

* * *

It's funny, quite laughable, really, to think that she awoke this morning expecting nothing short of a grand slam outing with her boyfriend—a day full of fastballs and force outs—a perfect game; only instead, to find herself bobbling grounders and stealing home plate with Mr. Mischievous himself. Tyler, too, much to his later dismay, had anticipated her to duck-and-cover the moment Klaus had aimed that wildly direct throw and changed the momentum of the game, but she didn't. No, Caroline swung; she _connected_.

Bat in-hand, her wrists flew, they turned to meet—smash—that wayward ball hurtling at her chest with power and finesse. Only a risk-taker, an opponent edging his hope of victory on skill and luck, would dare to attempt such a sophisticated move during a full-count: 3-2. The slightest slip of the fingers against the stitches or the tiniest variation of arm-slide forward could alter the ball's trajectory, gliding it across the plate in _ball_ or _strike_ by mere inches. Only Klaus Mikaelson would gamble like that.

 _Hardly anything at all, an inch,_ Caroline thought.

It's about the same size as a sliver of string, a toothpick, a pen cap, a baby carrot, a blade of grass…small nothings. And yet, those small nothings—that inch here or that inch there—wasn't that all it took to win or to lose? To swing or to strike-out? To sabotage or to succeed?

At this moment, Caroline realized something: life, much like baseball, was nothing more than _a game of inches_ —one small play could change it all. Everything.

Although she still wondered at the _why_ , she took a chance on the potential-ball Klaus offered today instead of the sure-strike Tyler provided. She sent that baseball soaring—speeding—spiraling—against the left field grass for the other team, for the opposing player in this heart-bidding competition. But why?

Call it an instinct. Call it hitter's intuition. Call it whatever. It didn't matter because somehow, it was Caroline, not Klaus, and not Tyler, who had altered the game's outcome with one full-bodied slug to the outfield. That high fly ball was gone, baby, gone; no option existed to rewind or replay.

Let's be real, Caroline's decision knocked them _all_ over like a foul ball to the head.

Tyler cringed, Klaus gasped, and she marveled.

But believe it or not, she secretly _liked_ the adrenaline rush that came with that unforeseen base-hit. It pumped through her muscles with pride and excitement. The unpredictability, the suspense—they felt surprisingly good against her lungs as she inhaled and tasted the fresh molecules, for they breathed of freedom. Possibility. And oddly, so did Klaus.

Caroline let her cleats dig into the infield dirt with each stride forward; she kicked up clouds of dust and and eliminated clarity, not knowing when to sprint or when to slide, but found that she didn't care to see who or what waited on the next base ahead. Instead, she welcomed the chance to lose herself in the sound and sweat of the stadium. Because that's what she wanted to do—to _feel_. To relish in her status as an athlete of love, as a champion of free choice.

Feelings were Caroline's to give and to accept however she wanted for once, all Caroline's. Hers, hers, _hers._ The only question that remained was this: _now freaking what_?

* * *

"Come now, love," Klaus encouraged, his voice dripping with light amusement, "it was all in good fun. You can't remain annoyed with me all day, surely."

She kept silent.

"Let us not pretend anymore, hm? Just admit it—" he probed "—I intrigue you."

Caroline laughed.

"In what world?"

"I know I do," he replied.

There it was again—that smug certainty. Unpretentious to the _nth_ degree. It lingered in the dimples that framed his mouth, in the lilt of his tongue.

"You find me interesting and mysterious, a little destructive, too…or perhaps dangerous is a better word?" he declared all presumption. "I'm dark…damaged," Klaus said. "I'm the type of guy who wears secrets across tattered sleeves and flicks off the world for some ghastly reason that nobody knows, but everyone suspects."

Attentive, Caroline listened. She couldn't tear her eyes from his face, couldn't pry away her ears before his words entered.

"But that's not what unsettles you, is it?"

Klaus phrased this more like a fact, inarguable and absolute, than a question.

"No—" he scratched his chin and appraised her "—no—" he inclined his head; and meeting her eyes, grinned wickedly, "—it's the likeness charged between us that awakens your curiosity—" he paused "—and heightens your fear."

Caroline narrowed her eyes questioningly at him as she nibbled on a cucumber sandwich, but didn't interrupt.

"Mystic Falls doesn't quench your thirst; it never will. It never will because it's not enough. Like me—" he maintained, his voice low and insistent "—like me, you possess an adventurous heart. You want the rhythm of exploration drumming from your own two feet, prompting you onward to new people and places; you want the taste of beauty, exquisite and true, dripping from your own smiling lips as you dance to new music, speak new languages, and sculpt new worlds with your fingers; you want pleasure…experience… _life_."

"Like me," he continued, "you want it all. Everything this life has to offer. I know it—I sense it—"

Klaus leaned forward here to pluck a chocolate-covered strawberry from the dish poised between them, brushing her hand with his thumb by accident. He rested it there next to her like a rope reaching out. Sameness tethering them in hand and soul.

"—only you're too afraid to take it."

Tingles. Rushing down, spreading out…multiplying. Multiplying everywhere. Caroline couldn't halt the rate of expansion.

"Don't be," he whispered.

As a flicker of something—encouragement? yearning?—flashed at her from his eyes, she jerked her hand away. Recovering herself.

"Well, Obi Wan," Caroline quipped, "aren't you awfully full of yourself?"

Klaus shrugged indifferently. He bit into the strawberry.

"Only because I know I'm right," he smiled, licking his lips.

Although it had resulted in fifteen minutes of trudging through thick, jagged foliage and listening to Caroline's disgruntled scoffs, Klaus eventually navigated them to his coveted picnic spot down the river from Wickery Bridge. He'd stumbled across it not long after his parents had shipped him and Rebekah to Mystic Falls to live with their elder brother. Elijah, who was in his late twenties, owned a chain of classic diners throughout Virginia and had become his family's standard Model of Mikaelson Success. Their parents had hoped his pragmatism and collectedness would rub off on Klaus, who had fallen into a "wild artistic fancy" while living in the city.

Compared to his previous residences in London and New York, there wasn't much to do here besides socialize. And since Klaus detested small talk and most people (how many goddamn events could one town have, anyway?), he spent the majority of his time walking, listening to music, reading, and graffitiing.

It was the latter that had resulted in an unprompted lecture from his brother about the "decorum" required of Mystic-Falls-living, and had sent Klaus charging through the density of the woods in a rage. Desirous of solitude. Any shred of familiarity. All he wanted was something— _anything_ —that'd save him from this small town purgatory and remind him of home.

That's when he found it.

The watery meadow, carved out of an expanse of giant boulders and ferns, reminded him of a park grove he often frequented in London where he could sketch in peace. Far away from his father's abuse and his mother's neglect. This little slice of paradise sat hidden below a thicket of evergreen and peered up at the edge of a rushing waterfall. The land remained uncultivated by anything except nature's harsh beauty and a wooden bench he'd carved and positioned near the pool's edge.

Despite its picturesqueness, however, the location boasted a kind of desolation with its absence of flowers and grasses. Only the sunlight, which streaked across Klaus and Caroline's seated forms as they lunched, suggested that it was no longer forgotten. Right now, at least, it basked with spring-like potential.

"Says who?" Caroline sneered tartly.

"Says me."

She dismissed this with wave.

"Like that means anything."

"Fair enough," Klaus smirked.

"How about this then? Says the man—" he leaned forward in confrontation, but lowered his voice seductively "—who knows that while you share Scarlett O'Hara's unrivaled beauty—" she rolled her eyes at the flattery "—you are not prone to oblivion. Though guilt and denial do plague you," he said knowingly, "blindness does not. And with me, sweetheart, it never will…for you see the truth of things, Caroline—"

Sliding his arm across the back of the bench, he inched still closer, capturing her gaze with his sly, steady tone.

Wide-eyed. Quiet. She shivered under his intensity.

"—and I intrigue you," he repeated.

Blunt. Always so damn blunt.

"You're right," Caroline huffed at last, more than a little unnerved. Klaus' eyebrows twitched. He hadn't expected compliance. He hadn't expected a confession. "But you forgot something—"

On the hook, he dangled…waiting. Caroline smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she moved nearer, biting her lip coyly, gesturing that she wanted to whisper a secret. He gravitated toward her like a planet, like she was his sun.

"—I'm stubborn as hell," she breathed into his ear, prompting a chuckle.

After this, she bounded to her feet with energy and promenaded before the water's edge in skipping nonchalance, regarding him with nothing more than a half-glance over her shoulder.

"And I'd say that your eavesdropping from the gazebo," she started, " _plus_ your rude interruption of a private conversation with _my_ boyfriend, all Rhett-Butler-conceited and provoking—" she waggled her finger at him with meaning "—has done nothing but increase my annoyance where you're concerned today, mister," she snapped.

Klaus dimpled good-humoredly and rocked backwards against his seat, seemingly unbothered.

"You may be intriguing—" She paused to flip her hair flippantly and pierce him with a look. "—but I—I am _definitely_ difficult to captivate," she maintained with a curt nod.

Klaus pressed his lips together as if to say, _understood, miss,_ and scratched his chin abstractedly. He swatted the lunch crumbs from his jeans, then reached into his backpack on the ground, ruffling around until he found what he wanted. After removing the item, he strode, hands clasped behind his back, to where Caroline stood next to a rotted stump and extended his hand with a conciliatory smile.

Their hands met—Caroline's an iceberg, Klaus' the heat of a flame.

"I'll take that as a challenge," he drawled, placing a beautiful paper mache tulip in the palm of her hand and moving a step or two beyond.

Three seconds.

 _One…two…three._ Just three seconds and her fingers thawed from winter into spring. Blooming and fragrant with fascination. Nectar now depleted, she was hungry for more. For more everything that was Klaus Mikaelson.

"Good."

She tucked the paper flower into her hair and took his waiting arm with a kind of cautious curiosity. They moved away together toward the waterfall, arm-in-arm, ease and comfort characterizing their steps. Water spilled down from the river above them in much the same way emotions flowed into hearts—in a flood.

"Because I am one," she simpered.

* * *

 **Definitely fluffy-ish, right? Kind of? Maybe? Not quite? Reviews would be golden.**


	8. Klaus-Riddled with a Capital F

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : I've been writing a lot of angst lately, so here's some Klaroline texting fluff. Totally goofy and lighthearted. Happy KCVDAY!**

 **Disclaimer : Slight Cami shade.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

— _Saturday 12: 48 A.M._

 **Klaus:** F is for…?

 _(12: 50 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : F is for…?

 _(12:51 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:**?

 **Klaus:**?

 **Klaus** _ **:**_ ?

 **Klaus:**?

 _(12:52 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : _*sobbing emoji*_

 **Caroline** : OMG you're infuriating! WHAT.

 **Klaus** : I know you are, but what am I? ;)

 **Caroline** : FREAKING FRUSTRATING!

 _(12: 53 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : Good guess, but nope. Care to try again, love? _*cheeky emoji*_

 **Caroline** : _*glaring emoji* x 3_

 **Klaus** : F is for…?

 _(12:55 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Do you want a hint?

 **Caroline** : No.

 **Klaus** : That's my girl.

 **Caroline** : I want you to leave me alone.

 _(12:56 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Impossible.I cannot do that, sorry.

 **Caroline:** You're not sorry.

 **Klaus** : Astute, very astute. That's what I like about you. _*kissy emoji*_

 _(12:58 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** "Bugger off" or whatever it is you Brits say.

 **Klaus:** No hablo inglés.

 **Caroline:** Soy fluente en español, también, señor. ¡Y estoy enojada y pesada!

 **Klaus:** ¡Qué magnifíco! Disgruntled, irritated Caroline is one of my favorites…en culaquiera lengua.

( _12:59 A.M._ )

 **Caroline:** ¡Imposible! _*dejected emoji*_

 _(1:00 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** _*heart emoji* *heart emoji* *heart emoji*_

 **Caroline:** I hate you right now.

 **Klaus** : Mmm. Sass me, baby, and sass me good… _*devil emoji*_

 _(1:15 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** _[inserts YouTube link for "Talk Dirty" music video by Jason Derulo]_

 **Caroline** _:_ GO AWAY.

 **Klaus** : Never.

 _(1:16 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : Officially ignoring you now.

 **Klaus** : _*frowning emoji*_

 **Klaus:** I never did anything to deserve such ignorance.

 _(1:17 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : _Excuse_ me? You're joking—please tell me you're joking.

 **Klaus** : I am not.

 **Caroline** : _*laughing emoji* *applause emoji*_

 _(1:20 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Ah, I see.

 **Caroline** : What?

 **Klaus** : You've reverted back to denial.

 **Caroline** : Huh?

 _(1:21 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : What in the hell are you talking about? Denial about what?

 _(1:29 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Klaus?

 _(1:35 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : Hello?

 _(1:59 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Just FYI: you're annoying.

* * *

— _Monday, 2:56 A.M._

 **Klaus:** "…When you sleep/ I will creep into your thoughts/ like a bad debt/ that you can't pay/ take the easy way/ and give in…

 **Klaus:** "The more you ignore me/ the closer I get. You're wasting your time/ The more you ignore me/ the closer I get…"—Morrissey

* * *

— _Tuesday, 11:38 P.M._

 **Klaus:** F is for…?

 **Caroline:** You're funny.

 _(11:39 P.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Who's trying to be funny?

 **Caroline:** It won't work, Klaus. Not tonight.

 **Klaus** : Just answer the question.

 **Caroline** : I don't have time for this.

 _(11:40 P.M.)_

 **Klaus** : Sure you do. All I'm asking is for you to answer a simple question, to complete an unfinished sentence. It's not that hard. Please?

 **Caroline:** Oh, really? Is that all?

 **Caroline** _:_ Let me think. How about…

 _(11:41 P.M.)_

 **Caroline** : …NO. _*winky emoji*_

 _(11:45 P.M.)_

 **Klaus:** You're just afraid to guess wrong.

 **Caroline:** Am not!

 **Klaus** : Prove me wrong, then…

 _(11:47 P.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Look, I'm busy. It's getting late and I'm swamped. College is more important than solving hybrid riddles, okay?

 **Klaus:** _*thumbs down emoji*_

 _(11:49 P.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Where's your spontaneity?

 **Caroline** : I don't have any.

 **Klaus:** I beg to differ, sweetheart. I beg to differ…

 _(11:52 P.M.)_

 **Klaus** : If I close my eyes, I can almost taste the honey redness of your blood against my tongue…

 _(11:53 P.M.)_

 **Klaus:** …I can almost feel the silky curves of your skin as I unbutton you with my quivering, passionate lips and expose you to the moonlight of my body…

 _(11:54 P.M.)_

 **Klaus:** …I can almost hear the soft purr in your chest as the leaves envelop us in Fate's blanket, see the disgust in your eyes dissolve; and instead, sparkle—glisten—engorge with ecstasy.

 _(11:55 P.M.)_

 **Klaus** : If I close my eyes, your heart still hums and thrums against my bare chest, pattering in arrhythmias too pronounced to be mistaken…

 **Klaus:** …because you want more, because you want me.

 _(11:56 P.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Blushing yet?

 **Caroline** : Ha!

 _(11:57 P.M.)_

 **Caroline:** What was that? Oh, it was the sound of me scoffing through the phone.

 **Klaus:** Pretty good though, right?

 **Caroline:** Smooth.

 _(12:00 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Damn, I was going for poetic. :-( :-(

 **Caroline:** lol

 **Caroline** : Crap—crap. Okay, seriously, stop trying to distract me! I have to go now.

 _(12:01 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : _*heartbroken emoji* x3_

 _(12:03 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Stop. You can't make me feel guilty for picking homework over texting. I don't have time for you.

 **Klaus:** _*sobbing emoji* x10_

 **Klaus:** You know just how to cut a man, don't you? #Heartless #Heartbreaker #BeStillMyStakedHeart

 _(12:07 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Dramatic much? lol

 **Caroline:** #YouWillLive

 **Caroline:** (You have no choice—you can't die!)

 _(12:10 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : Not true. I could die of boredom. How would you like to be responsible for that?

 **Caroline:** Goodnight, Klaus.

 _(12:15 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Hm?

 _(12:20 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : Hmmm?

 _(12:25 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : You can't leave me to die in a ditch of boredom, Caroline. It's cruel and insensitive. Where is your big, beautiful soulllllll?

 _(12:31 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : _*music note emoji*_ Why can't you be my sunshine on this cloudy dayyyy. When it's cold outside and I'm in such dismayyy. _*music note emoji*_

 _(12:32 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** OMG! Isn't there anyone in New Orleans you can annoy?

 **Klaus:** Nope.

 _(12:33 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** No one? No one at all?

 **Klaus** : Nope.

 **Caroline** : You know, somehow I find that _incredibly_ hard to believe…

 _(12:34 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** There is this one bartender…

 **Caroline:** Good! Great! Go and bug him while I study. Great idea! _*thumbs up emoji*_

 **Klaus:** She's pretty.

 **Caroline** : Who is?

 _(12:35 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : Cami. Tall, blond, long legs. Sensuous lectures.

 **Caroline:** Who in the hell is Cami?

 **Klaus:** The bartender. She prattles on a little too freely about psychology, mind you, but there's something pleasant about her face. Understated, pensive…and she reveres me like a king. Always absolving me from my past atrocities. It's wonderful.

 **Caroline:** _*eye roll emoji*_

 **Caroline** : She sounds like an idiot. "Absolving" you…pfft! You can't be absolved!

 _(12:36 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : It makes me feel better!

 **Caroline:** Then you're an idiot, too.

 **Klaus:** _*glaring emoji*_

 **Caroline:** Please tell me you're not dating this chick?

 _(12:45 A.M)_

 **Klaus:** What does it matter to you?

 **Caroline** : Are you?

 _(12:57 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** _:_ ?

 **Klaus:** You're in Virginia; I'm in Louisiana. Sorry, but you can't prevent me from dating potentially-idiotic bartenders, Caroline.

 **Caroline:** Seriously, are you?

 _(12:59)_

 **Klaus:** Why do you care?

 **Caroline** _:_ Because I do, dammit! Because I wanna know!

 _(1:01 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : KLAUS.

 _(1:16 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : KLAUSSSS.

 _(1:23 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : I'm just trying to be a good friend here, why won't you answer me?

 _(1:25 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

 _(1:33 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** I know you're still awake. You're probably sitting somewhere sipping bourbon and scrolling through my messages all smug, thinking to yourself, "I've got Caroline on the hook;" "She's dyinggg to know."

 **Caroline** : Fine. Think it. Go and twirl your half-twit little psychology bartender around New Orleans, see if I care.

 _(1:42 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** _Asshole_.

( _2:15 A.M._ )

 **Caroline** : You can do better than her—than Cami, I mean.

( _2:16 A.M._ )

 **Klaus:** I know. ;)

 **Caroline:** SERIOUSLY? Now you respond?

 **Klaus:** _*angel halo emoji*_

* * *

— _Wednesday 8:45 A.M._

 **Caroline:** You freaking suck, you know that?

 **Klaus:** When you speak to me like that, I find myself wanting to bow in surrender. _*heart eyes emoji*_

 **Klaus:** What have I done to offend, Queen Caroline?

 **Caroline:** You're in my damn head! F is for…f is for…f is for…Blah!

 **Klaus:** Ah—I see. Did you finally work out the riddle?

 **Caroline** : Umm…NO.

 _(8:46 A.M)_

 **Caroline** : Why in the hell do you think I'm texting you? Not knowing is driving me nuts! _*dejected emoji*_

 **Klaus** : Haha

 **Klaus** : Well, what do you think it means?

 **Caroline** : _Friends_? _Fun_? _Flipping the switch? Follow your feet? Feel, feel, feel?_

 _(8:47 A.M.)_

 **Klaus:** Although I find your use of alliteration immensely entertaining and impressive, no. Try again.

 **Caroline:** F is for… _flimsy_ _flirting_? I don't know!

 **Klaus** : _*laughing emoji*_

 **Caroline:** Tell me that's not it!

 _(8:50 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Klaus?

 _(8:55 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : I swear, if this whole "riddle" thing is about flirting, 1) Unkillable or not, you _will_ die. 2) You will pay for the lack-of-beauty-sleep bags under my eyes. 3) For the love of God, my sanity, and _your_ dignity, find a new form. Puh-leaseeeee!

 _(8:57 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** I can't guess anymore.

 **Caroline:** I'm too impatient, just tell me. Please, please, please!

 **Caroline:** Pretty please with a thousand hybrid cherries on top? _*cheeky emoji* *prayer hands emoji*_

 _(9:00 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** _: (…is typing…)_

 _(9:04 A.M)_

 **Caroline:** How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?

 _(9:05 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : Forever.

 _(9:06 A.M.)_

 **Caroline** : Rude!

 **Klaus** : _*embarrassed emoji*_ No, no—you misunderstood haha.

 _(9:07 A.M.)_

 **Caroline:** Explain? #ConfusedCaroline

 **Klaus:** #PrepareYourself

 **Caroline:** #BornReady

 _(9:08 A.M.)_

 **Klaus** : _F is for forever—_

 **Klaus** _: —_ because that's how long I'll be here for you.

 **Klaus:** Forever. ;)

* * *

 **Silly, right? Reviews are lovely. xx**


	9. A Friend in Wait

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : In anticipation of 7x14, here's a KC phone call one-shot for you all. ****Ya'll can thank fanfantasticworld on Tumblr for tempting me, because I had zero intention to write this haha. I hope you like it.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Panicked, Caroline waited only long enough to hear the answering click before she began her tirade.

"Thank God, _finally_!" she exhaled with relief. "Do you know how many times I've called? You can't freeze me out like this—you _know_ how much I worry. I thought you were dead! Stuffed in a coffin! Stabbed through the freaking heart somewhere!" Caroline scolded.

"Please tell me you're safe and that you've at least listened to my voicemails? Rayna knows you've fled Mystic Falls. You're marked and she's coming. _No rest for the wicked_ and all that jazz," she said flippantly, rolling her eyes. "She's—"

"Don't fret," Klaus interrupted, simpering into the phone. "I appreciate the dire concern, love, but I'm quite safe. Quite _alive_." He paused for effect. "For another five seconds, at any rate."

He chuckled at her sharp intake of breath, then added, "I imagine your reproach will slay me soon enough."

Silence. One second…two seconds…three seconds…four—

"Klaus!? What—why—how do you—" Caroline stammered. Maddening man! "Where in the hell is Stefan?"

Oh, how the tone of her annoyed surprise took him back!

He closed his eyes and images, though now more than two years old, flooded his mind with fresh vibrancy: Woods. Sunshine. Verbal foreplay. A confession bow-tied with a strangling promise never to return. The scent of damp leaves and vanilla imprinted on his skin. Her blonde waves curled between his fingers, the pure heroin of her blood wrapped around his tongue. The ghost of her kiss haunting his lips like a strawberry already eaten—juicy, irresistibly delicious—but no longer there; no longer his.

A precious dream all too perfect...all too real…now fading, fading…fading away...

"Hello, Caroline," he drawled in his familiar way. "It's so lovely to hear your voice again. How are things?"

A puff of exasperation sounded from the other end of the phone.

"Tense. Complicated. Insane. _Impossible_." She rattled off the words like a grocery list. Crossing off each emotion as she went, determined not to feel their weight against her lungs. "Now," she clucked impatiently, "could you be a pal and put Stefan on, please?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Sorry." Though Klaus spoke frankly, playfulness edged in his tone.

Caroline rolled her eyes. Of course he'd make this difficult! He probably got some kind of twisted thrill out of it! _Ass._

"I need to talk to him, Klaus. It's important. Please put him on."

"I can't."

Caroline groaned and threw her head back, wringing her hands at the air. What did she do to deserve such harassment? If possible, the Original became _more_ vexing with each passing year.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I don't have time for your distractions right now." He was unbelievable. Un-freaking-believable! Toying with her at a stressful time like this? _Honestly_. "Now, listen" she started again, "could you _please_ be a dear and hand Stefan the goddamn phone? Thanks. _"_

"No."

She stomped her foot.

"Come on!"

Klaus was firm. He wouldn't budge. He missed this—riling her up, unfurling her perfect feathers. "Sorry."

Caroline huffed and gritted her teeth.

"PLEASE?"

Her desperate plea garnered nothing from him but calm amusement.

"Like I said before, love, I can't—" He hesitated. Baiting her like he had endless time at his disposal, like he had no care in the world but this moment, this conversation. "—because he's not here," he said.

Caroline's irritation swelled.

"Then where is he? And why are _you_ , of all people, entrusted with his phone?"

"Well, because I suppose you could say he's detained elsewhere."

Caroline jolted straight up at this.

That word, _detained,_ opened up Pandora's Box. It dumped synonyms—ugly, ugly synonyms—all over her brain. It deposited fear. Drop-kicked serenity. Accumulated concern. Acquired anxiety, anxiety, anxiety.

Her heart rattled and flapped against her ribs like a caged sparrow. Her mind conjured up infinite horrifying possibilities in one blinked second—daggers, dungeons, desiccation, demons, death—each one spelling worse despair than the last. Each one signifying worse disaster for Stefan. She couldn't bear to lose him.

 _No, no,_ _no_!

It wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen! She couldn't bear to lose another piece of home. Not after Elena, not after her mom…not again, not again!

"I apologize, Caroline," Klaus began, "but he's currently away on hero-hair business with Hayley in the Quarter. However, he has conveniently (or I should say, accidentally?) left his phone behind. Much to my unexpected delight, I assure you."

"Detained. Busy," she repeated, nodding abstractedly. "He forgot it."

How many times, and in how many different words, had Stefan assured her that he'd always be there? Holding her hand? Remaining by her side? Supporting and encouraging her decisions? Wiping away her fears, her tears? Waiting to catch her? Caroline could count his promises like sheep in her sleep—skipping and leaping and vaulting across her mind, _baaaah_ -ing hope into her starved and lonely heart. She wore them like wool around her shoulders, warmed by faith. And by belief that he wouldn't let her down.

And yet, how many times, and in how many different ways, had Stefan's actions demolished those eloquent promises? How often had he left her weak and crying? All alone? Whenever she relied on him most, whenever needed him more than anyone else, how was it he always seemed to disappear? Why was he never anywhere to be found?

"Given that information," Klaus continued, not yet perceiving her deflated demeanor, "I believe it grants me license to be your hybrid distraction, hm? Surely you wouldn't be so cruel as to deny an old friend a few minutes of your time?"

No response.

"Caroline?"

Again, no response. Concern began to seep into his consciousness, "Still there, sweetheart?"

This shook her out of her silent contemplation.

"He forgot his phone, then? That's good to know," she answered with a sigh. "I worried for a second that you'd strung him up and carved his face raw for kicks." She choked out a feeble laugh, attempting to sound cheerful and unaffected but not succeeding. "I'm not sure what boredom prompts you to do in New Orleans, after all..."

"Your boyfriend is fine, I assure you," Klaus clipped in reply.

 _So he knew._

"You must know by now that I'd never do anything to hurt you, Caroline."

As he granted her a moment to process this, he poured himself a stiff glass of bourbon and collapsed into his favorite leather armchair, squishing against the cushions until he was comfortable. If he closed his eyes, perhaps he could drown in the heavenly music of her sass. He'd almost forgotten how the unexpected pitch and plunder of her verbal assaults adrenalized him—almost.

"Moreover," he added, "I'd feast on the heart of anyone who tried." Light as a wind chime, Caroline's laugh fluttered into Klaus' ear. How his heart panged with pining at the sound. "Hopefully that eliminates any further doubts you may have at the moment."

"Blood and guts aside," she shook her head and smiled, gravity seeping into her tone, "thanks. That's oddly…endearing."

"Anyway," Klaus cleared his throat, changing the subject, "I hear congratulations are in order. Stefan informed me you've just had twins, that's—"

"They're not mine."

Pause.

"Okay."

"Not...not technically. I didn't—" she faltered and dropped her head into her hands, her words becoming muffled, "I never asked for any of this."

Caroline blushed at the her own words. Why did she feel the need to explain? To justify? To validate her status as a surrogate? Klaus had left Mystic Falls and had never returned just like he'd promised. Just like she'd wanted. He no longer held any claims over her life. She had plans: A college life. Friends. A career. Human things she wanted which he didn't understand. A town, a mother to miss and mourn. He no longer held any charms over her heart. She'd shredded the last of them with his horse drawing at the Bitter Ball and was now in a committed relationship with Stefan, whom she loved. She was _in love_ with Stefan, for crying out loud!

…Wasn't she?

She was 100% free of Klaus Mikaelson, okay?

Free of guilt and distraction.

Free of unexpressed emotions.

Free of obligation to share any part of her life with him, any part of her future.

 _Free, free,_ _free!_

She had been for two years now. And yet…and _yet_ …if that were true, then from where did this suffocating, unbearable pressure to confide in him spring? Why, somewhere deep-down, could she still feel those Klaus-chains compressing against her chest and choking her heart into acceptance? Why did she still feel it? That warmth? Why did she still freaking _care_?

Because she did. Caroline still cared what Klaus knew. What Klaus thought. What Klaus imagined. She still cared about how he viewed her...but _why_?

"It's ridiculous to think that me, a vampire—" she laughed without humor, "physically stunted at seventeen for the rest of eternity—was capable of carrying two babies to term. But hey, I did. I gave birth to Jo and Alaric's twins. It's impossible," she said, growing more perturbed, "but it happened."

Klaus remained quiet for a moment. Thoughtful. When he broke the silence, his voice was soft, "Such is the conundrum of magical loopholes, I suppose."

"You would know better than anyone," Caroline said.

"Touché."

Apparently, word of his daughter's existence had reached Caroline in Mystic Falls; and for that, Klaus was glad (not to mention relieved) because it saved him the trouble of relaying the news himself. Given the option, he'd prefer to avoid the awkwardness of explanation. Assuming culpability for a blunder of this magnitude wasn't easy for him. Klaus' one-night-only, hate-sexed romp with the little wolf certainly wasn't the proudest moment of his life, but it was one whose consequences he'd suffer from for the rest of his days because like it or not, he was tethered to Hayley and Hope by blood now.

"It seems unfair," he mused, "to be burdened with an impossibility you never asked for or wanted to bear in this life, does it not?"

"And how do you bear it?" Caroline asked, her tone heavy but curious. "The impossible?"

"I'm afraid there is only one way." Klaus sat up and leaned his elbows across his knees, cradling his phone close against his ear and offering up a soft smile that she'd never see. He lowered his voice like he was about to whisper a secret, sacred and serious, "You survive."

Her stomach fluttered, for that was not the answer she had anticipated.

"The strain, the responsibility you wear on your back," he continued, "it will try to bury you further and further into the ground. It will try to force you to your knees in surrender, begging for you to end it all, but you don't let the darkness win. You don't allow it to keep you from walking, from continuing to move your feet forward. You never stop fighting."

"You survive, Caroline," Klaus repeated again, "you _survive_."

* * *

They spent the next twenty minutes engaged in detailing the more general aspects of their lives. Caroline droned on about her double major at Whitmore and how the supernatural interference at the school _seriously_ interfered with her study-time, but that she still managed to maintain straight A's. No compulsion necessary. (Just in case Klaus wondered.) She also complained about Damon's self-destructiveness, about the supposed horrors of the phoenix stone, and about Julian and his psychotic cult of Heretics. She explained how the latter they took control over Mystic Falls not long after her mother passed away.

At mention of Liz, Klaus digressed into an expression of his sincerest condolences. He was concise, but sincere.

"Thank you," Caroline choked out as he finished.

She remembered the breathtaking floral arrangements, the mother-daughter sketch furled in black satin string, the compassionate note. He'd taken great time and care in his selections. Though nothing could eliminate her grief, she knew Klaus had hoped his gifts would offer some small comfort and consolation.

They did. Not so much then, but now.

"I know how much she meant to you," he said, "how hard it must have been for you to say goodbye."

"It was." Caroline cleared the emotion from her throat and smiled through the tears, "But as a friend once so kindly reminded me, ' _Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal._ ' And I'm grateful to him for that. Extremely grateful," she said as she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

Surprised, and more than a little touched that she'd memorized part of the elegy he'd sent, Klaus fell silent. Reflective.

No matter how many miles of distance existed between them, all it took was _one_. One sentence and Caroline ensnared him, snatching up his heart and playing it to the beat, completely unaware that she'd done anything.

 _Just like old times,_ he sighed to himself.

Quickly recovering himself, Klaus progressed into providing her with a current tale of New Orleans: The struggle for power. The plans for protection. The mystery of prophecy. He highlighted the importance of family, his daughter, and how whisperings of an _inevitable Mikaelson demise_ kept his senses sharp and alert for new supernatural threats. Vampires, werewolves, witches, humans—a civil war brewed in the Quarter, and it was time to take sides.

He didn't shy away from mentioning the women who currently frequented his life, either. (Particularly since they were largely responsible for the relentless aneurysm aching in his head.) Hayley, Klaus explained, he tolerated…if only for Hope's sake. He believed every child deserved the opportunity to know and love her mother. Then there was Aurora, his vindictive ex from too many centuries ago to matter. In Klaus' estimation, that ex-princess _bitch_ caused more than enough trouble and her expiration date _tick-tock_ ed on Death's clock.

"She," meaning Aurora, "I can't wait to decapitate and hang from the nearest tree."

And then, there was Camille…

"Bossy and begrudging psychologist by day. Bartender by night. Bonafide newbie vampire pain in the _arse_ by day AND night," Klaus explained.

"Wow. When you describe her that way I like her already!" Caroline snickered.

Klaus explained that while he wanted to help with Camille's transition, he faced major difficulty reconciling the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde leap in her character. Human Camille and Vampire Camille were two _entirely_ different people, vacillating drastically between collected and crazed, and it made no sense to him. No one's personality became that bi-polar in the move from human to supernatural.

"She says she wants to learn control, but she won't listen."

"Then she's a moron and a head-case," she scoffed. Klaus wiped a hand over his face. He sighed, unable to disagree. "Which is ironic considering she's supposed to be a psychologist."

"I can't make her trust me, Caroline," he muttered.

"Is she stupid? Who better to trust about vampirism than a freaking Original? Than _you_? I mean, you may be deranged and delusional most of the time—"

"Hey now..."

"But you know control better than anyone," Caroline continued, not hearing him. "You're more compulsive and insecure than I am, and that's saying something, mister."

Klaus scratched his head.

"Thanks," he said grinning, "I think?"

"Stupid twit doesn't know herself, that's what," she added under her breath. " _Seriously_."

* * *

Eventually, after a few minutes of idle, Elena's-in-a-sleeping-beauty-coma chit-chat, the conversation redirected. Taking a more serious and divulging turn. Caroline, who had just recovered from a fit of laughter after Klaus had asked if Damon tried to kiss the doppleganger awake, suddenly grew tense. And quiet. And mindful.

She looked at the clock—10:42 P.M. They'd been on the phone for close to an hour, and still nothing. No texts. No calls. No smoke signals. No Stefan. Nothing but ignorance and silence.

It had felt this way since he left, since Rayna first marked him. Stark and separate. Distance sprung and sprouted between them like expanding highways to drive them away from each other. _Apart, apart_. Caroline felt like a piece plywood drifting out to sea, floating farther and farther away from the sand where they once marked their names in _x_ 's and _o_ 's, her eyes glued to the shoreline waiting for the supportive life jacket Stefan never seemed to bring. No matter how hard she paddled, no matter how long and fierce her strokes, the current yanked her away faster than his eyes had time to see.

She sighed, long and slow, then cupped the phone against her face as she turned to lay on her side, "I never thought this would happen."

"What's that, love? Dishing dirt with the devil himself?" Klaus teased.

"No."

Something about her inflection—the way it dipped and curved, careful not to encroach too close to somber—caused the hybrid to abandon his inclination to jest. Instead, he focused. He listened closer, gripped the phone harder. For a woman so ordinarily cheerful, any deflation in word or speech made him anxious. Any hint of unhappiness made him want to kill. _Slaughter_.

Caroline's next words tumbled out with a shameful sniff and a whisper, "I never thought I'd be weak."

"You're not."

His reply was fierce. Adamant.

"But I _am_! I am weak, Klaus," she countered. "I need support. I—I need my mom to tell me what to do. I need...I need someone who—" Caroline clasped her eyes shut, struggling to get the words out. They were tied in a knot at the bottom of her heart, and now they were lodged at the base of her throat stuck and gasping for air. Sputtering. Sputtering for release. "I need to know why I want to be a mom to babies that were never meant to be mine. How can I do this? How can—how can I _want_ this?"

"I need support but I have none. Don't you see? There's no one who—" she stopped herself "—I'm alone. Why am I all alone?" she asked, her words becoming the river of tears she wouldn't allow herself to cry.

 _Why_.

 _Why._

 _Why._

With her utterance of that one word, Klaus heard rage thumping and pumping in his veins. Felt the beat of drums calling him to war. Tasted the snarl of the monster inside of him ready to bite, suck, and ravage all those responsible for the hurt clouding her in melancholy right now. How _dare_ anyone smother the brilliant strength of her light! How _dare_ anyone subject her to shivering, to the cold of loneliness! Purposely, accidentally— _HE DID NOT CARE_ —it would not be, it would not be!

All he wanted to do was hold her. To whip her up into his arms and rock her. All he wanted was to brush his hand across her head and down through her blonde tendrils, letting them curl around his fingers like springs; her pain leaking into the cotton fabric of his shirt as he held her tight against him. All he wanted was to keep her warm, to cherish her, to swaddle her in all the love she deserved.

But he couldn't. He couldn't because she wasn't there with him; because, maybe, she never would be...but that wouldn't stop him from offering her it all. Anything she needed. Caroline could have whatever she needed from him: an ear to listen, a hand to squeeze, a shoulder on which to lean, a home in his heart she'd claim one day without warning. _E_ _verything_.

"You are not alone, love. I promise you that," he said.

Tender, Klaus' words felt like a pillow against her ear. "I'm not?"

"Of course not. You have Stefan—" (Old mate or not, he wanted to bludgeon the wretch for leaving her in such a distressed state. To snap his neck like a two-by-four. Taking good care of her, indeed! _What a load of bollocks_.) "You have Bonnie and the quarterback—you have an entire harem of admirers at Whitmore. You have friends, Caroline. Many people who care about you."

She sniffed, laughing weakly. "Do I?"

"You have me," he said. "I care." The words seemed to echo between them as soon as he spoke them. They boomed louder and stronger with each passing second now, the magnitude of meaning shaking both of their hearts in earthquake and dizzying their minds until emotion muddled together to resurrect the past and awaken the present all at once. In the span of a moment, everything became clear. Everything became chaos. "I'm here, Caroline. Whatever you want, whatever you need—I'll always be here for you."

"You..." she paused; moisture pooled in the corners of her eyes, "you really mean that, don't you?"

"Yes, which is why I need you to understand something I'm about to tell you. To believe it. Can you do that for me?" he asked.

"Why I—I'll try."

Fidgeting nervously, Klaus rubbed a hand deep into his left temple and took a deep breath, gathering courage, for this would not be easy for him to say. Or to feel.

"For you," he began, his voice raspy; trembling, "I am unconditional. I am your constant in all life's math problems. I wait to embrace any variable, equation, or imaginary number you care to leave by my equal sign because you are in need of support or stability. I am here forever and that will not change."

"I will not move. I will not be erased or deleted. I will not abandon you whether you choose to lean on me or not. For you, for you I am always..."

Klaus hesitated, licking his lips.

How excruciatingly hot and uncomfortable vulnerability tasted in his mouth! How tight his jaw clenched in anticipation of that rebuffing squeeze he was all too certain would descend against the tissues of his heart! How he loathed the flames that cremated him before her again and again, crumbling him into ashes (aching, throbbing ashes) trampled beneath her feet!

Swallowing hard one more time, determined to digest this crippling fear, he forced himself to expel the words he didn't want to speak but he knew Caroline needed to hear, "For you I am always—and forever will be—a friend in wait. There's a door with your name on it," he continued, his voice low and hurried now, "and it's all yours."

"It doesn't matter if your hand never once touches the doorknob, because it's there." Voices echoed from the hallway, drawing nearer. Growing louder. "I leave it ajar for you, Caroline," he said. "And I always will."

Stupefied, she couldn't respond. She didn't know how. Warmth spread like sunbeams across her chest, along her lips. It lifted them _up up up_ in wordless emotion until they cracked wide in smile.

"I'll never close that door, understand?" Caroline's breath hitched. "Never."

All light and unaffected and full of merriment, Stefan sauntered into the room then still reveling over his and Hayley's victory over the Strix. He halted when he saw the Original. Guilt overtook his previous exultation the moment he perceived the device in Klaus' hand, the one he'd promised not to leave behind; reminding him how he'd promised not to leave _her_ behind.

"Understand?" Klaus breathed into the phone.

Her heart fluttered. "Yes."

The hybrid looked up as the young Salvatore entered, saluting him with a glass of bourbon and assuming a more nonchalant air, "Ah, look! The prodigal boyfriend returns!" Climbing to his feet, mockery and sarcasm quickly replaced his intensity from a moment ago. "How fortunate that you've returned without a scratch. I've had one hell of a time distracting your girlfriend, old chap," he said.

"Caroline is—" Stefan scratched at the back of his neck, then shuffled uncomfortably. "Caroline is on the phone?"

"She sure is, mate. Would you care to talk to her?" he offered, his eyes gleaming as black as the devil's. "I fear she's _awfully_ anxious for your safety."

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

As Klaus pulled the phone away from his ear slowly, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to agonize over yet another painful goodbye, he perceived something worse reverberating in ripples off his old friend: dread. Dark and gloomy, miserable and suffocating, _dread_. He growled silently, outraged at the mere thought.

 _Bloody ingrate doesn't deserve her_!

"Klaus—wait," Caroline pleaded in a whisper. He turned away from Stefan; hanging, still hanging by every moment here with her. She was the string, and he was the dangling trapeze. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"What for, love?" _Everything_ , something inside of her yelled, _everything_! "I only provided a charming diversion, which, I assure you, was my pleasure."

"Charming, huh?"

"Of course."

"You're still arrogant as all hell." She shook her head and and laughed. "Typical."

"In fairness, I _am_ the Alpha male."

Caroline snorted.

Determined to do better, to say more, she tore and ripped and peeled through her mind's vocabulary in search of words that wouldn't sound so trite, begging for an expression that would impress upon him how potently his sincerity had struck her. How much it had heightened her respect for him. How much it had touched her to know someone out there cared. How much she needed to believe she wasn't all alone. She wanted to somehow convey that she liked his broken human pieces, and that he shouldn't work so hard to hide them behind anger and hurt because they were beautiful. And how, in moments when he let his guard down, so was he.

"All of that aside, just know you were the perfect hybrid distraction today. A true friend. Thank you for being what I needed," Caroline said with feeling, pressing kisses against his heart with words instead of lips as their conversation drew to a close, "and for the unconditional _always_."

"Anytime, love. If you need anything, don't be afraid to kick in my door with those _'boots made for stomping_ ,' or however the song goes. I reckon you'll find me without much trouble, for I'm bound to be somewhere nearby." Klaus grinned, and after a slight pause added, "I tend to lurk around on this planet quite a bit...waiting. Always waiting."

* * *

 **I'm not sure how I feel about this one. Reviews are lovely. :)**

 **P.S. Here's the quote Caroline references:**

 _"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal_ _."—The Carolinian_ , Richard Puz


	10. Classic Caroline Avant-Garde

**KINDA-SORTA, NOT REALLY A PROMPT, PROMPT : Any thoughts on the look Klaus will give Caroline and that _'I know how to make you scream_ ' smile he's going to give her when they meet again?**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : Special thanks to gooddame on Tumblr for accidentally inciting this drabble-of-sorts. This one just kind of happened...?**

 **Happy reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

He'll study her like a vintage yet avant-garde painting, pushing aside the cobwebs of time and distance to revere a beauty forever unrivaled. To worship the iridescence of an angel incarnate whose hips sashay to the plucking harps of heaven as she crosses the threshold. Closer. Each step she draws nearer will pound percussive tremblings into the dead nerves of his fingers. Of his toes. It'll drown them in a waterfall of blood, engorging them—and him—with the sensation of what it means to feel alive: pulsation and palpitation.

Klaus will have forgotten, you see, but Caroline will make him remember—

—How tenderness enchants.

—How it blinds, deafens, and dizzies him into delirium.

—How it tastes as lovely as honey dribbling across the tip of the tongue, but smells as delicious as flower venom. Perfect despite its poison.

—How the devoted dragon that lives somewhere deep in his chest spews fire at each day that passes without mention of her name or without the sound of her tinkling voice, charring the empty space where her memory forever haunts him. Whispering to him about hopes he never dares to harbor. Encouraging him to keep dreaming disillusioned dreams because _anything is possible_.

—How the fragile universe never quits expanding and never stops shattering those pesky barriers called Expectation.

—How the Grinch's heart continues to thaw until it reaches the rawest of raw. Stripped of all leather protection.

—How unbridled passion sleepwalks in rainbow crevasses within his lonely, arid soul, but never truly rests. How it thrives amid snores and sleep apnea. How it never, _never_ stops breathing; it never dies.

—How the evolution of sentiment persists and pervades, corroding away everything except that one absolute truth: _Beauty this eternal never fades_. It overwhelms the senses and ignites the soul; it carries a heart away on the tattered edges of a magic carpet. Forever aflight.

* * *

One.

Caroline will bite Klaus back to _alive_ with one look, one smile, one moment.

Just one—That's all it will take; that's all it ever did.

* * *

At first sight, eyes will caress the creamy silk of her cheekbones; they will brush the rose-petal pursing of her mouth with the precision of a thistle and mark the diamond radiance of her face, of her lilted lips, as the wind breezes open the blonde curtain of hair that hides an expression now free of trepidation or uncertainty. Eyebrows will plié into arches of surprise and hands will collapse into vertical splits at his sides. Eyelashes will remain still. Static. Too afraid to blink in fear that she will _poof_! Disappear.

Lips will part, baited between teeth, and wait for oxygen that will never come. His Adam's apple will gulp, gulp, gulp along the smooth line of his trachea and tiny hairs will prickle the skin against the back of his neck, raising goosebumps across the surface of his forearms. Disbelief, perplexity—sheer astonishment—will crinkle his forehead, right above the nose. Posture will become statuesque as the sound of hummingbird wings flap and flutter near his ear, his heart flying hard and fast and afresh with revitalization as she drops her bags to the floor in arrival…

…in finality.

"Oh, come on!" Caroline will half-cluck, half-scold. "Couldn't you at least muster a measly _Hello, love_ or something?"

Her voice will unfurl him like a buttercup blossoming beneath the spring sunshine. Petals begging for replenishment, the kind only her photosynthetic precipitation can provide.

"This whole wide-eyed gaping thing is creeping me out," she'll add, scrunching her nose and shifting uncomfortably. "I never thought I'd prefer your tacky hybrid endearments to silence, but I do."

"Say something—say _anything_ ," she'll press. "I promise you'll escape with nothing worse than a sassy snort or a roll of the eyes…please?"

Crawling out from his wintry cocoon, Klaus will be reborn. He'll transform into a butterfly speckled with unexpected possibility…and open sky as far as the eye can see.

"I'm afraid I'm fresh out of eloquence at the moment, sweetheart," he'll admit with a rueful smile.

Caroline will approach him in lithe, calculated steps, her blue orbs penetrating him with unfamiliar caution and anxiety.

"That's a first," she'll laugh.

"And here I thought there'd be no shortage of words tumbling from your mouth right now—" she'll slink her arms around his neck and tickle her fingers through his curls "—on the day that I firmly decided—"

She'll pause. Rubbing her lips together and lifting her chin, a warm smile will slither across her lips as she proceeds with a nervous sigh,

"—I'm officially ready for you to show me what this world, what this _life,_ truly has to offer," she'll say. "That is," she'll hum sweetly, seductively, against his stubbled cheek, "if there's still an open space for me by your side…?"

Klaus will hook her around the waist, fingers tangled in the loops of her jeans. He'll pull her into his chest and brush tendrils of hair over her shoulders before he pulls back. Peering hard into her eyes.

"I do have one," he'll say.

"Do you?" she'll blink.

"One eloquent word to say, I mean."

"Okay…"

Caroline will trail off. Biting her bottom lip. Waiting, waiting. The stalled seconds ticking by like endless years…

Eyes will meet eyes—open and unguarded. Sparkling with anticipation, their brightness tainted only by a dash of fear. Smiles will meet smiles—dimpled, pleased, and flushed, but also slightly vulnerable. Lips will curl to speak the one word never to be forgotten, but always to be remembered.

"Finally," Klaus will breathe, his lips pressing the word into her forehead like a love letter. Sealed with a thankful yet fervent kiss. Face glowing with contentment indefinable and indescribable, but written into the calligraphy of one spectacular human feeling… _ALIVE_.

* * *

 **Reviews are lovely.**

 **P.S. Thank you all for your continuing support. You rock my forever-doubtful writing socks! _*hugs*_**

 **xx**


	11. A Bloody Good Explanation

**PROMPT : _"We had a fling like a thousand years ago that ended really badly and now you're trying to make casual conversation with me in the line at Starbucks, please stop. Okay, one date. Coffee doesn't count. Also, I'm still not over it." + "I've been calling you by your online alias for so long, that when you tell me your real name it doesn't seem like it fits."_ (Day 1: Human AU)**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : This one-shot takes place in a coffeeshop/cafe, not a Starbucks, and also kind of took on a mind of its own? haha. I hope you like it. Happy Klaroline AU Week! :-D**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

9 A.M. Saturday morning placed Caroline within close proximity of her favorite life-stimulant—coffee. After spending last night policing Rebekah and Katherine's tequila-fueled _welcome back_ swing dancing (which had resulted in broken heels, belligerent bickering, a blast from the past, and a few handsy assholes who they'd left ego-bruised and bloody on the clubroom floor), the scent of brewing hazelnut and caramel never smelled so intoxicating. Or essential.

Today, only an enormous french vanilla latte and a double shot of espresso would do the trick. Today, only mega-caffeine would obliterate the what-a-night yawn clouding her sunshiny smile.

"I wasn't expecting you," he said.

Caroline, who rapped her fingers mindlessly while she waited for her order, turned to blanch at the manager behind the counter.

"Excuse me? I think you have me confused with—"

"—You said your name's Caroline, right?" he interrupted. "Caroline Forbes?"

Handsome and charismatic, the man cocked his head to the side and offered her a friendly smile.

"Yeah, that's me…" she appraised him suspiciously, "but how did you—"

"—Here you go," he said as he slid a to-go bag into her hand. "No charge for the bewitching young lady. One of our new favorite faces," he winked.

Sighing heavily, Caroline rolled her eyes. She was in no mood for this.

"That's charming," she said tartly, "really smooth. Only here's the problem—" She paused, flicking her eyes to his name tag. "—Marcel, is it?"

He nodded.

"Here's the thing Marcel—" she pushed forward onto her hands and narrowed her eyes at him "—I ordered _coffee_ , not carbs," she snapped.

"Now," she clucked, flicking the bag back at him with an agitated smile,"how about you take back these unsolicited apple fritters and charge me for the beverages I actually _wanted_ , hm? You know, before I misconstrue your flirting for sexual harassment," she threatened sassily.

"Perky and poised," he drawled, dropping onto his elbows, "but not afraid to put a man in his place, huh? A real sunshine pistol, you are, Caroline," Marcel snickered. "We dig that around here."

"I'm sure," she sneered.

"That being said—" He nudged the bag toward her again. Tapped at a slip of paper attached to the top with his index finger. "—this is your order today. Take it or leave it, princess," he smirked, "but I hope you come back to scold me again. And soon."

Caroline scoffed under her breath. To be ogled by the likes of him? Fat chance, buddy!

"By the way," he added, sticking a pen behind his ear, "I'm not hitting on you." He moved away, glancing back at her over his shoulder, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes. "I'm just doing my job and passing along information. Boss's orders," he shrugged.

"Don't be too hard on me, eh?" he added. "I have a feeling about you—I think we'll be good pals one day."

Caroline's jaw hung open. The absolute _nerve_ of this guy!

"Just be happy I have no coffee to throw back in your face right now, _amigo_ ," she huffed.

One-handing the to-go bag, she stormed away.

Following orders, her foot! What kind of business establishment was this, anyway? Pastry-pushing, anti-caffeine tyranny was so _not_ the way to entice coffee junkies such as herself to return. _Seriously_. And to think she'd been ecstatic at the prospect of a Bloody Good Café opening up mere steps from her college her apartment! In retrospect, the reality royally _sucked_!

Still fuming, Caroline meandered to the nearest trash dispenser, arm raised and ready to discard the unsanctioned food when her eyes perceived scribbled handwriting on her stapled receipt. Hesitating, she pulled the bag closer and ripped off the folded note. Blinking once. Twice.

The personal inscription mocked her in all of its black Sharpie glory:

 _ **Miss-B-Positive-Blondie** ,_

 _After our little spat, I fancy a chat—_

 _preferably stat._

 _But take your time,_

 _I know how much_

 _head vs. heart_

 _likes to combat._

 _xxx_

 _Whenever you're ready,_

 _just call my name_

 _and I'll be there to explain_

 _why my request is_ not

 _quite so lame._

 _And how I made it not_

 _in arse-like vain._

 _xxx_

 _Because, love,_

 _believe it or not,_

 _I am_ not _a complete_

 _and intolerable pain._

 _xxx_

 _Fondly,_

 _— **KingoftheAlphas**_

 _P.S. If my plea you please will heed; then, baby, I've got the caffeine you need._

Caroline snorted outright—ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous! Surely this was a set-up? A joke? One of Enzo's stupid pranks gone awry…?

But it wasn't. Caroline knew it wasn't. Because she felt him. She felt _them_.

Eyes—dark blue, heady, patient—they watched from near the window behind her. Intensity x-rayed through the blonde hair covering the back of her skull, but he waited. Quiet. Focused. Parked in a chair. Dimples pronounced and complacent as one of his feet bopped along to the restaurant music. Elbow poised forward on the table's edge in reaching…longing. Ears primed and sifting through trivial conversation, laughter, haunting the air for the one voice he hoped to hear.

No, Caroline didn't need to see him; the man polluted her senses whenever he ventured near. (Much to her Mikaelson-loathing horror.) Without glancing in his direction, she barreled to the exit, pausing as her hand pushed against the metal handle,

"All right King Alfalfa," she announced, chin-in-air, "meet me outside. Let's hear what creative tales you have to relate today."

She marched out into the warm spring day toward the umbrella tables, voice echoing behind her,

"Bring coffee. Or else kiss my generous tolerance goodbye," she warned.

* * *

Caroline rued the day when she first connected with the not-so-anonymous asshole sitting across from her right now on Tumblr.

"Apple fritter?" Klaus offered coyly.

"Since this is nothing but your pathetic attempt at peace, which _I_ don't grant and _you_ don't deserve, I'd rather starve," she spat back. After swatting his hand away, she collapsed back against her chair with crossed arms. Glaring, she added, "But thanks."

Mutual love of art, writing, classic novels, and traveling aside, his tactless and deceitful treachery meant one thing: humiliation. And when it came to shaming an already-insecure girl like herself—well, let's just say that the scar he left behind remained sensitive. It hadn't healed.

It's not that she disliked their online correspondence (in fact, quite the opposite), but that it began under false pretenses. He blatantly _lied_. Daily…repeatedly…for a freaking _year_!

For one year, he'd pretended to be some sweet, insightful, empathetic stranger tucked away behind a computer screen in England. He'd listened intently as Caroline unveiled her insecurities—her deepest, darkest, most personal feelings of inadequacy regarding school, writing, the future, love—hell— everything! Only, as it turned out, this "stranger" wasn't so unknown. He never was.

* * *

Nope, he was Klaus Mikaelson—

—Pedigreed British intellectual. Disturbed impressionist painter. Poet laureate under the age of 30. Guest grad school lecturer. Co-owner of the Bourbon Brothers bar chain with siblings Finn, Elijah, and Kol.

—Pompous, cunning, charming, vindictive, prestigious hunk of male. Scruffy yet sexy. Serious yet sardonic. Savage yet sophisticated.

—Flagrant flirter, but well-documented love-philanderer (or perhaps love-wrecker was the right word?)

—Prone to pouting, tantrums, and mood swings.

—Older brother of best friend and roommate…not to mention ex-almost-but-not-quite _BANE. OF. CAROLINE'S EXISTENCE_!

Rebekah introduced them at a university production of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ a year-and-a-half ago and BOOM. Sparks ignited! Swords drawn, there was nothing but bossy bickering-at-first-sight. Where he was dead wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , she was clearly right; and captivated by her playful spite, he asked for her number at the end of the night.

"But I want you to be _more_ than some magnificent Ungettable Get," he groaned when she'd declined, saying that he'd have to earn it first.

"Sorry, but you're a little rough around the edges," she quipped from the doorway of her apartment. "I need more convincing. I guess that just means you'll have to chase me?" she shrugged, disappearing inside.

"With pleasure, sweetheart," he smirked at her retreating back. "With pleasure."

And chase her, he did. Popping up outside sociology lecture with coffee and croissants-in-hand. Volunteering at the Red Cross Blood Drive _she_ organized. Sliding sketches and poems under her door, desirous of her honest opinion. Showing up to her apartment for Girls Night In to drunkenly serenade her window with a rendition of _You and Tequila_ by Kenny Chesney.

Caroline resisted his playboy charms like a champ, but felt compelled to knick away at a softness he strove to hide. Call it curiosity. After much bantering, therefore, they went on a few friend-included outings, followed eventually (a few months later; the boy had to work, okay?) by a bunch of top-notch solo dates full of good food, good romance, and good fun. All went well. In fact, all signs pointed straight to exclusivity. That is, until the night of Caroline's 21st birthday party…

Amid the celebratory festivities, some red-headed trollop named Aurora bounced into the bar and clamored kisses all over Klaus' lips. In front of _everyone_ …including the birthday girl herself.

"Surprise, baby! Your father's dead!" Aurora broadcasted loudly, drawing astounded looks from everyone in the room. "No more daddy disapproval means no more long distance, isn't that grand?"

Apparently, this high society chick (who hailed from Paris where he studied abroad a few years ago) was Klaus' European girlfriend. And she had arrived in town to serve death notices in obnoxious, insensitive flair…and to stay long-term. Or so she declared.

"I'm so sorry, Caroline. I don't know what—she's not—I'm—" Klaus stammered. Unable to find the right words. Emotion gripping at his throat. "—I can't talk right now," he said.

"Yeah—no—" she blurted back, stunned and perplexed "—take care of things. I'm so sorry for your loss, Klaus." Her words sounded hollow and trite, particularly when she knew he and Mikael never got along. "But your family—your family needs you."

"It's okay," she nodded absently, "just go with them now. Go with her," she waved at the supposed girlfriend. "It's fine," she said, "I understand. Really, just…go."

Releasing a perturbed, helpless growl, he glowered at Aurora before turning back to Caroline and reaching for her hands. He pulled them into his chest and traced them with his thumbs. He peered hard into her face—anger softening, eyes widening into ovals swirling, swirling with intensity; fear dilating his pupils. Pain, inexpressible pain, twitching words against his lips,

"I'll explain this later. I _promise_ I'll explain," he maintained with a squeeze of her hand. "But not now. Right now, I—I have to go. I have to go, but I'll come back."

He paused. His teeth scraped against his bottom lip like a rake, digging at some emotion buried beneath dirt.

"I promise I'll come back for you," he proclaimed earnestly.

Caroline remained silent. Arms hugged against her belly, she stared at the floor.

"Wait for me?" he pleaded in a whisper. His voice sounded rough. Raw. "Please…wait for me."

She nodded once, never speaking, then watched as Klaus, his siblings, and the redheaded viper disappeared into the night. His retreating back was the last thing she saw. It became the last memory she possessed of him to cherish. And to despise…

xxx

The Mikaelson siblings quickly left for their father's funeral in London, deciding later to remain with their unstable, grieving mother until the following fall. Caroline remained in close contact with all but one during their absence.

She waited and waited, but Klaus never called. He never explained. He never said goodbye. He just…vanished.

And soon, so did Caroline. Corralling herself into the Salvatore's college boarding house every day after classes with pick-me-uppers Enzo and Katherine, the three friends navigated through the loss of the Mikaelsons from their social circle the only way they knew how: with distraction. They studied, partied, laughed, and met new people. And new people included Stefan Salvatore.

"I'm a safe bet," he said when he'd asked her out for the first time. "And isn't predictable what you need right now?"

Thinking, not feeling, thrust Caroline straight into Stefan's net of lackluster rebound love like a detonated cannonball, both of them desperate for someone to reassemble their broken pieces. He, after his ex, Elena; she, after Klaus. Despite their good intentions, however, the relationship crumbled after a drawn-out six months together, leaving her feeling more unfulfilled and alone than ever.

Caroline hated it, but a part of her still longed for another taste of extraordinary. But too proud to pry, to find out why, she asked the Mikaelsons no questions and reconciled herself to the unspoken truth: Klaus never truly wanted to come back for her.

"It was nothing but a manipulation by the Hybrid Heartbreaker himself. An elaborate love game," she told herself. "He never cared about me. He simply never cared."

"Why should I be surprised?" she scoffed.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, guess what? Klaus not only infiltrated her public life, but wrecked her only remaining private refuge: Tumblr.

Her safe haven, largely because of its shroud of anonymity, Tumblr became the one place where she found stability and dependability amid life's cruel nature these days. She poured her passions into fandoms forever there. Into discussions forever evolving. The blogging site became a freeing, comfortable portal where she could unzip and express. Connecting and confiding in others, strangers though they were, removed the pang of loneliness that hollowed out her chest; for they reminded Caroline that she wasn't alone. In happiness or in suffering, they were all—each of them—human and experiencing life in their own ways…together.

Caroline just needed a secure place to _be_ and to vent, and all she wished for was something or someone to listen. And when she found that something, that KingoftheAlphas someone, she clung like hell. But what is it they say?

… _Be careful what you wish for_.

* * *

"Level with me here—" Klaus started. Leaning forward, he broke off a piece of apple fritter and plopped it into his mouth, "—just how long are you going to persist in calling me King Alfalfa, when you _well_ know that's neither my name nor my URL?"

"Hmm," she mused, "I guess that depends."

"On?"

"On when you decide to stop acting like a He-Man Caroline stalker," she replied saucily, offering him a haughty twitch of the lips.

"I beg your pardon?"

As he laughed, Caroline groaned under her breath and took another sip of coffee. He wouldn't make this easy.

"Why the hell are you here, Klaus?" Her delivery was blunt. Pointed. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, for starters," he dimpled, "this is all mine."

He gestured behind him at the Bloody Good Café. The movement, though casual, emanated a rugged pride.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not," he said. "I assure you I own the joint."

"Of course you do," Caroline half-laughed, half moaned. Her face collapsed into her hands on the table. "The one coffee place I actually like, you own. Because _that's_ my life," she griped.

The pastry-pushing hard time she'd received earlier from Marcel made perfect sense now. Klaus' "orders" translated directly into _detain the girl._

"And here I thought this new business venture of mine would please you?" he continued wrily.

Cocking his head to the side, intensity overtook his features as their eyes locked.

"After all, was it not _you_ who once suggested that booze and blues only remedied a bad night, but did nothing to improve a wretched morning? Hm?" he smirked mischievously.

His tone, though monotone, vibrated with sarcastic undertones. Slight mocking.

"You're the inspiration behind all of this, Caroline." He gestured at the café again. "You're my muse for everything you see, for everything you taste and feel here. I'm sorry if that displeases you—"

Caroline glared. The devil never forgot how to bewitch, did he? How to pick at old scabs and make them bleed all over again?

"—but it's the truth," he sighed, dropping his gaze.

How dare he drudge up that online conversation _now_! After everything she'd uncovered! How dare he! Apparently the shock, embarrassment, and hostility she'd (rightfully) smacked across his face last night wasn't sufficient; he'd come back for more.

While the silence proceeded to stretch between them, Caroline battling the anger and confusion within her mind, Klaus redirected the conversation.

"Moving on." He cleared his throat, "Though I commend you for your creativity, why on _earth_ would you nickname me after that little rascal, Alfalfa?" he _tsked_ , shaking his head. "I'm appalled and aghast. How could you?"

" _Seriously_?" Caroline gaped.

He wanted to discuss nicknames? If anyone deserved to feel appalled right now, it was her…not him. The sneaky bastard spent the last year trolling her on Tumblr, for crying out loud! Anddd, she might add, he did so _knowingly_ and without _once_ trying to reveal himself!

That's right—Klaus knew Caroline was the face behind Miss-B-Positive-Blondie from the beginning! He knew it before he clicked follow. Before he sent that first ask, tagged her in that first get-to-know-me post, pressed _enter_ on that first instant message. He knew way, way before he plucked and probed for precious pieces of her soul. Just like he knew that she'd be the anxious woman expecting to meet KingoftheAlphas for the first time at that loud and crowded club last night.

 _He. Knew. It. Was. Her._ He knew all along! Just—who freaking did that? Better yet—why? For what purpose? For a man who disappeared from her life without a single stinking word or an apology, it made no sense!

"We're nothing alike, you see. Not only have I mastered the art of hair gel," he argued, waving at his immaculately styled curls, "but I'm suave where Alfalfa is ungainly; I'm all attack dog where he's all pet-my-belly. Besides—"

"Wrong!" Caroline interrupted with a huff. "Just like him, you're nothing but a clueless, bumbling _kid_ who's too afraid to talk when it's necessary and to shut UP when it's not! Why are boys suck jerks? You all _suck_!"

Klaus repressed a chuckle as her fist pounded against the table.

"To paraphrase then—"

He hesitated. Scratching his chin, he leaned in and considered her for a moment, studying the crinkled curves of her cheeks and pinched forehead. Her compressed lips. Her furrowed brow.

"—the correct connotation to attach to the nickname you've ascribed would be, ' _Dear Klaus, I hate your stinking guts_?' " he remarked sarcastically.

Growing restless, annoyed by all this pointless repartee and his stupid dimples, her mind dizzying with conflicting emotions, memories, and realities, Caroline swung her purse over her shoulder and jumped up.

"I'm leaving."

Klaus' eyes widened. Trading sarcasm for solemnity in an instant, he lurched forward.

"No. Don't." Stiffening, he reached out and encircled her wrist gently and whispered in a desperate plea, "Please, don't."

Tingles everywhere. The man's touch infected her like poison, but tasted like wine. Caroline jerked away from him.

"Don't you get it?" she exclaimed. "I can't do this anymore! I've hit my limit, okay? I won't pretend for one second longer that nothing's happened between us. I—I can't," she admitted shamefully.

To keep her voice steady, to keep her mind sharp, she clenched her fists.

"You peaced out of my life with no reason. No goodbye. And that wasn't fair—it wasn't fair!"

"You left me here with nothing—nothing but an unfinished story and empty words. You never came back for me. Never," she emphasized. "Then, later, you pop back up under the guise of an Internet stranger and I don't understand why? Why lie? Why hide from me?" she prompted.

"You're better than this! I _know_ you're better than this," she maintained resolutely, piercing him with a look. "You made me feel things that I swore—"

Caroline stopped herself here, shaking her head. Choking back a memory. Reining in feelings.

"I may not deserve much, but I deserve to know _why_ ," she said, her voice harsh.

Klaus blinked back at her all misery, misery, misery. Shock, shock, shock.

Caroline watched as the emotions splashed across his expression like blobs of gray paint. They drained animation from his eyes and sucked the dimples from the corners of his once-smiling lips. They stole breath from his lungs and strangled tonsils at the base of his throat. His jaw opened then closed, opened then closed, opened—then slammed shut. Snapping with the finality of a steel trap.

Ashen. Arid. Austere. Klaus' face became a desert. Words whirled and whirled, but remained trapped in the sandstorm of his tongue.

"Wrong answer," she breathed as she moved away.

Fishing out her keys, she swiped her coffee from the table and stomped away toward her car with agitation marking each stride against the pavement. Unbelievable! Un-freaking-believable!

"Caroline, stop."

Shoulders tense and steps determined, purposeful, Klaus marched close behind.

"No."

"Just give me a chance to—"

Caroline let out an incredulous sound. A chance for what? More mind games? More hollow excuses?

"—I said _no,_ " she repeated.

"Don't be this way, love."

"Be like what?" Caroline barked in retort. "Your silence speaks volumes! I get it, okay? You obviously have nothing to say to me, so I'm going to say the one thing you can't. Good—"

"— _Stop_ ," Klaus growled, cutting off her attempt at goodbye.

Grabbing her by the elbow just as she reached the driver's seat door, he twirled her around in one swift movement and steadied her against the car. As he cupped her face, hands trembling, thumbs stroking her cheeks, fingers tangling in her loose waves, he lowered his head and parted his lips to speak. His voice came out all cracked and raw,

"How could you possibly think that? How could you _genuinely_ believe that I never came back for you?" he rasped in disbelief.

Caroline's heart flinched as she stared back at him. So confounded, so pained, her response sputtered from her lips like the air from a deflating balloon, "Because you never did," she squeaked.

"Yes," he stressed, never breaking eye contact, "I _did_."

Klaus leaned closer. His warm, anxious breath brushed against her face and tickled her skin as his eyes—fixed and focused—stormed into her with thundering fervency.

"But after your dad died—" she started. Her eyebrows wrinkled at him all confusion.

"—I couldn't stay away," he sighed, forcing a pathetic laugh.

"All bleary-eyed and jet lagged, I flew back here directly after the funeral determined to clear the air in person. To tell you at once that Aurora was nothing more than a vindictive ex-girlfriend of many months past who…when we broke up, promised to smile in the face of my sorrow and spit in the face of my happiness. News of Mikael's demise gave her ammunition to do both. Particularly when she saw us together—when she saw how happy I was with you," he explained.

Caroline studied him closely. Listening hard. Connecting dots.

"She came here out of spite, Caroline; not requite," Klaus clarified.

Memories of Rebekah's regaling tales of her brother's _psychotic witch of an ex-girlfriend_ suddenly floated back into consciousness, clearing out some of Caroline's smudged skepticism. But that in no way let him off the hook. Not by a long-shot.

"Okay…" She took a moment to process this. "Let's skip ahead to your epic magician's act, then. I'm over you popping in and out of hats this year, you know?" she grumbled.

They moved over to the curb, Klaus surrendering his butt to the damp grass with a grunt.

"You're not Bugs Bunny, so stop acting like it!" Arm-hugging her knees, she appraised him with warning flashing in her eyes. "This real life-to social media life-back to real life hurdling of yours has been disorienting as hell," she complained. "Pick one and stick with it, would you?"

A hearty laugh rumbled in his chest at this, one that clearly boomed, _God, have I missed this woman_.

"I take it I'm still in the King Alfalfa dog house?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Just tell me what happened."

"The explanation for that is simple, really." Dragging a hand across his face, he wiped at tired eyes and scratched at his chin before looking at her. "Irony," he exhaled at last.

"Irony?"

Smiling at her confounded expression, Klaus nodded, "Yes, love. _Irony_."

"Misinterpreting Katherine's _Caroline doesn't want to wait_ words when I overheard her on the phone at the door of your apartment sent me away, determined to let you go. To set you free like I believed you'd wanted," he said.

"And my desperate, selfish, _irrational_ need to be a part of your life again—" he laughed weakly, struggling to keep his tone light and restrained "—no matter in how limited a capacity, brought me back again. I hid my true face behind that URL, Caroline, but I packed my heart into each of those words I sent to you."

He flicked his eyes to her face. Probing. Scorching, scorching with zeal no longer disguised behind the emotionless curtain of his face.

"And I'm not sorry for that," he said. "I won't apologize."

"Is that so?" Caroline hummed.

As she spoke, she leaned in like a flower unbuttoning before the light of the moon—petalled lips pursed and almost puckered—halting just inches from his mouth to watch, to wait, to waver—breath catching and panting for the air she wanted him to steal, nerves screeching and tingling with desire to relish the coarse softness of him again—to take a bite from his forbidden fruit. To suck a kiss from the one man who siphoned heartache and heartbreak from her soul simultaneously. Remembering how delicious he tasted. How full and round and complete. How he damned her to this burning passion like a seed of pomegranate, chained her to it like queen of the Underworld. Forever awake, her heart purred. Forever alive, her heart hissed.

"Irony is cruel—" Klaus gulped timidly at their tethered proximity. Reeling, reeling. "—it played me like a fiddle," he admitted.

"Or a _fool_ ," Caroline countered, eyes twinkling.

Jumping up, she pounded two reassuring pats against his back before skipping over to her car and unlocking the driver's seat door to throw her purse inside. Klaus approached her from behind, hands-in-pockets, and his head drooped low on his shoulders. A resigned sigh dawdled at the edge of his tongue as she placed her keys into the ignition.

"Would you care for some more coffee, love? I never did provide you with all the caffeine you need," he offered gravely, anticipating her rejection.

"Nah, that's okay," she replied. Caroline couldn't help but shake her head at this last feeble attempt to woo her, to keep her from leaving. "But since all this irony has left me craving carbs," she mused, "if you get in, I'll let you buy me brunch so we can discuss possibly starting over."

The change was instantaneous—like a swipe of color splashed across a gray canvas, Klaus' expression transitioned from brooding to beaming at her words.

"And later, if you're lucky, King Alfalfa," she finished with a smile, "you can make me some Bloody Good beignets for dessert."

* * *

 **FUN FACT : In college, a guy once texted me "baby, I got the caffeine you need" after reading a Facebook post of mine whereby I expressed a desperate need for coffee. Reason #1 to watch what you say in the presence of a writer, eh? #Beware ;)**

 **Anyway, too much back story? Leave a review and let me know what you think. Thanks so much for reading!**

 **xx**


	12. Inferno-Starter

**PROMPT : ****Princess!Caroline and Prince!Klaus who are forced to marry for the benefit of their countries (and their fathers pressuring them) - Caroline hates him a lot. Until she doesn't. Please?:)**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : I tweaked this one a little for Day 4 of Klaroline AU Week (Time Shift). There's no arranged marriage/engagement, but they are forced into each other's company for the benefit of their countries. It's fluffy and set in a more fantasy-like realm. Enjoy! :)**

 **P.S. A big thanks to all of my readers and reviewers. I appreciate the support so much!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

How the morning starts: A big yawn precedes a tug at a heavy bedchamber door which opens to reveal puffs of fire—bursting, blazing, _singeing_ puffs of fire—which results in a startled scream, ducking for cover, a scuttling, crab-like retreat, a kicked-shut door locked tight with a key, and shaking. From head to hands, from hands to feet, there's shaking all over. And cursing. Lots and lots and _lots_ of cursing.

Yes—the morning begins with Caroline cursing about nearly becoming a fried-chicken princess with no eyebrows. Forget coffee or tea—the best way to pop-open sleepy eyes in the morning is to swing open the door…and almost DIE. You know, as if aristocratic life wasn't tough enough already. _Seriously_.

* * *

Hyperventilating on the floor, her face contorting with a mixture of shock and irritation, Caroline reaches into her seashell satchel and removes her mobile talking glass. She taps on it twice with her index finger. Purple smoke thunders and tornadoes as she lowers her lips close to the edge of the glass,"Give me the prince, Mirror Man," she requests.

A low voice, not a face, responds from behind the billowing purple, "Your wish is my command, Princess Forbes."

A crack of lightning, the sound of pelting hail…and _voilá_! An attractive blond man rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes reflects back at her. He boasts rugged, though well-groomed stubble, pillow-disheveled curls, and a confident, high-born air.

"Are you _insane!_ " Caroline exclaims, glaring into the glass.

"Good morning to you, too, love," he taunts cheekily. "How can I be of service this fine day?"

His blue eyes twinkle amid a deep, dark storm he hides in his iris, and he simpers. Some secret delight lifts the corners of his mouth. It carves moon-crescent dimples into his cheeks—an unnerving, ab-so- _lutely_ provoking expression he reserves just for her.

"Do you want to try explaining that _thing_ that's currently chained to my doorknob in a giant yellow bow? Or maybe you'd rather hear how I narrowly escaped my fate as this morning's charred toast? Do you, Klaus?" she rattles off accusingly.

The shrill tones of her voice echo, echo, _echooooo_ against the stone walls of her castle tower bedroom.

" _Do_ you?"

Fraternizing with the Mikaelsons, the royal family, is necessary during her stay here. Caroline knows this. It's important to solidify the political alliance between their two kingdoms, Inferno City and Agua Shores, so together, they can unify two of the most destructively beautiful elements in the natural world—fire and water—and lead the world into a new age of harmony and freedom…but _not_ at the expense of her perfectly water-moisturized skin! Fire-burn does nothing for a girl's complexion, thank you very much! _Nothing_.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she prompts bluntly.

Caroline waits. Her fingers strum, strum, strum in impatient melody as she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

"It's a gift," Klaus mumbles demurely, shifting his gaze.

"No—" Caroline presses her palm to her temple and massages "—it's a _dragon,_ " she says.

"Hey now," he responds defensively, "you're the one who expressed sorrow at having no darling dolphins or sharks at your disposal…notme. I just thought you'd like a new pet to train—" he shrugs "— something formidable yet devoted to protect you while you remain in Inferno City with us."

He lowers his head closer into the talking glass.

"Tell me," he baits with puppy dog eyes, "is that _truly_ so terrible?"

Damn him and that sensuous, dripping charm! And that stupid, adorable pout!

"Not a pet, Klaus, a dragon. A _dragon_ ," she repeats again.

"Point?"

"Isn't the point obvious?"

Eyebrows pinch into harsh, jagged lines as Klaus flicks his eyes to her face and rubs a hand roughly against his chin.

"The only obvious _point_ I care to address here is your willful resistance to my thoughtful gift. I think—" he hesitates, sighing dejectedly "—I think I'm a little hurt?" he says.

As Klaus pretends to sniffle, Caroline rolls her eyes.

"Would you stop with the guilt trip, for crying out loud!" Her head collapses into her hands and her voice becomes muted as she rubs at her eyes. "You are many things—absurd and immature to name two—but you are so _not_ hurt," she argues.

"But I am! You don't know how deep your rejection cuts me," Klaus maintains resolutely. He makes stabbing gestures with his hand. "I'm shot through the heart and _you're_ to blame…"

"Bon Jovi?" Caroline laughs. "Really? Now I _know_ you're not serious."

He draws an "x" across his chest with his finger.

"Cross my heart and hope to cry, (not to die)."

Dropping her head back, Caroline half-snorts, fighting hard to keep amusement at bay, and wrings her hands at the ceiling.

Relentless. Relentless is the perfect word to describe Klaus' behavior since they first met. Relentless, persistent, and perseverant—he's become as infectious as poison ivy multiplying throughout the tissue beneath her skin. Crawling, crawling, crawling! Poking, poking, poking! Creeping, creeping, creeping! Prodding, prodding, prodding!

She scratches and scratches, but there's no relief. There's no removing the annoying (oddly alluring) rash he leaves behind. He's just…there. Always waiting to blister to the surface. Always hoping to aggravate her fingernails enough to itch back at all those intoxicating, infuriating bumps he trails like a maze along her skin. And before Caroline knows it, her heart hopscotches toward him—closer, closer. Way too close to him and his incurable disease.

"You should be flattered, sweetheart. I don't dip into my stash of baby dragons for just anyone, you know…" Klaus drawls.

The way these words catch in his throat and cause his blue eyes to flicker, flutter, and then fall, pangs at her heartstrings a little—just a little.

"You're selective about who you gift with wild, volatile pets with fire-anger issues, huh? I can't _possibly_ think why," she remarks with a shake of the head.

Klaus smirks at her gallant wit. As a feared prince, he's unaccustomed to such brazen verbal antagonism, but Caroline knows he finds it entertaining. And her, a challenge.

"They're of a precious military breed, actually," he admits indifferently, quirking an eyebrow, "which is why I'd hoped to find you more grateful."

Eyes round and unblinking, jaw dropping, Caroline shuffles backward hurriedly on her hands and feet until her back crashes against the bed frame. The action sends pillows hurdling over her shoulders and into her lap.

"Wait a minute…" she pauses to process, "you mean to tell me that you shackled a _Breather_ —" She gnaws on her bottom lip, arms around knees, and rocks. She rocks and rocks. Breathing in, breathing out. Gasping, gasping, gasping. "—the _most LETHAL_ species of dragon to my bedroom door?"

"That—that thing in the hallway—-" she stammers "—there's a gene-selected _killer_ thirty feet from where I'm sitting right now?!"

Klaus nods, notably pleased that she finally grasps the magnanimity of his gift.

"Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD!" Caroline exclaims. She frantically scratches through her hair, tearing at her curls like she would cobwebs of fear.

"Personally, I find them to be perfectly loyal, domesticated pets. No different than dogs, really," he offers in explanation.

"You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking." Klaus shrugs and Caroline face-palms, not knowing whether to feel more gratified or freaking _terrified_ about the fire-breathing, flapping horse on the other side of her door. "I can't just plop on a cute collar, pick out a name, claim that dragon outside as my new pet and take her for a ride around the castle, Klaus," she argues stubbornly.

"Sure you can! You can do whatever you want," he says. "She's yours."

As he speaks, the background in his talking glass begins to change. Move. Whirs of color and golden morning light. Stoned arches that curve over entryways, then disappear. Leather-bound books, paint brushes splayed across tables, family portraits, statues, wilting cactuses. The sound of footsteps reverberating…sliding against hardwood, scuffling against stone steps…growing louder, louder. Nearer, nearer.

"Do you hear yourself right now? Those dragons are. bred. to. _kill_ ," Caroline enunciates.

How can two people participate in the same conversation, speak the same language, and hear the same words, yet become discombobulated in the interpretation of them? This is ridiculous!

"I appreciate the sentiment and all," she declares, "but I prefer cute, shiny animals that splash or nip at my toes, not roaring, temperamental ones that burn me to a crisp when I don't wake up to feed them on time, okay?"

A loud but polite knock on the door causes Caroline, her heart pattering at the unexpectedness, to jolt to her feet. The talking glass, which fell from her knees, now rests between her parted legs. It blinks: _REFLECTION TIME ENDED_. _REFLECTION TIME ENDED._

"Open the door, love. You're safe now," Klaus promises. His voice comes out muffled but sincere from behind the thick door. "I'm here."

A strange sense of comfort and exhilaration invades her lungs as she exhales. _He's here, he's here._

But her hand hesitates on the doorknob, fingers tingling, tingling as some new emotion paralyzes her feet to the floor. There's ringing, ringing, ringing in her ears. Vertigo. It spins her around and around, knick-knocking her knees and screech-screeching her stomach, sweat prick-prickling her forehead and drip-dripping across her palms. Her heartbeat pitter-patters when it usually thump-thumps. Her lungs refuse to digest the oxygen she swallows in greedy, gluttonous gulps. Her mouth tastes of sand. Dry, dry, dry. And worst of all, she doesn't understand why.

"You're only afraid of yourself, Caroline," Klaus interjects soberly, "nothing else."

He's right. He's so unapologetically correct. How does he do that?

To be honest, Caroline's always admired the fierce beauty of a dragon's wrath. How it sears and scorches its target and blackens it to ashes, condemning it to evolve into something new. Rebuilding itself from flakes carried along in the wind. Resurrecting itself from fossilized slivers tramped into the earth. How it snores and snores, but never truly sleeps.

Deep, deep-down in the hollow, anaerobic pits of her soul, she aches to transform. To sprout wings and to rain fire from the ground and into the sky high, high above, creating bright, bombastic clouds that color her world in vibrant red, red, red. Her life—it's meant to sparkle and sizzle. And Klaus becomes the match, her inferno-starter, that ignites in her lungs and asks her to breathe. To finally set herself alight—aflight—for everyone to see.

Lifting her chin, Caroline throws open the door and affronts him with a challenge-me-if-you-dare attitude. Klaus stifles a jesting comment and presents her with the looped handle of a pink leash.

"I thought we'd take your new pet out for a stroll together?" he offers hopefully.

Accepting the leash, Caroline curls the loops around both of their wrists, places the handle into his palm, and then slides her hand in-between the webbing of his fingers. Locking their hands together as one.

"You be the firm, controlled hand and I'll be the warm heart behind the bossy voice, okay?" she says with an encouraging squeeze. "A pet dragon will be fun. A true high-flying adventure."

Klaus's satisfied smile expresses everything words can never say.

"And who knows—" Caroline beams into his face, patting his back teasingly "— maybe I'll train her to barbecue-off your eyebrows for a laugh?"

* * *

 **Reviews would be lovely. xx**


	13. Umbrella'd At First Sight

**PROMPT : " _You're European, you came to the U.S. because you were dating an American, but they dumped you. Now, you're pretty much homeless, lost, and alone. To top it off, it's raining and I found you on the side of the road...but your accent is cute as heck, so there's that" AU_**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tweaked this a little, but it fits in well with Caught in the Rain/At First Sight tropes for Day 7. Happy Klaroline AU Week. Have at it, lovelies. :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

"I find the rain cleansing at the present moment, love," he drawled with his eyes closed and his head tilted upwards into the dark clouds. "Since you were wondering."

Caroline halted on the sidewalk, hand on her hip, cursing herself for discreetly side-eyeing the stubbled stranger as she exited the backdoor of the Mystic Falls Library. She turned and narrowed her eyes, "I wasn't."

"You were."

Affronted, Caroline huffed. She _was_ wondering, but how arrogant and presumptuous was he?

"Those coy but curious eyes of yours gave you away," he added, dimpling.

 _Excuse_ him. Bold and obnoxious much?

"If they did," she replied audaciously, "it's only because I'm surprised to find some lunatic deposited in the middle of the street worshipping the freaking weather."

Running a hand through soaked and disheveled blond curls, he laughed.

Of course she noticed him! Who could help it? Rugged good-looks aside (not too many hot apples fell from trees in a small town like this, okay?), only pneumonia-seeking idiots stood outside in a rainstorm in the early spring with no umbrella and wore nothing warmer than short sleeves. It was forty degrees! Sexy or not, mindless morons like him _demanded_ to be noticed.

"The lunatic's name is Klaus." He inclined his head in introduction and squinted at her through the drizzle. "And you are?" he probed.

"Smart enough to be prepared for Virginia weather," she remarked with a haughty wave at her umbrella, evading his question and continuing her march down the sidewalk.

"Afraid of a little precipitation, are we?"

Matching her stride, his arms clasped casually behind his back, Klaus' eyes raked over her form with piqued interest and amusement. Caroline shivered, blaming it on the chill in the air.

"Considering the fact that it's March—" she paused for emphasis "—yes."

Klaus shrugged.

"I find cold rain to be restorative. It rinses away blood, dirt, and sins. Revives dying plants and flowers. Refreshes the cynical soul," he mused.

"Well, gee, aren't you philosophical," she spat.

"Thanks for noticing," he countered. Cocking his head to the side, he tossed a coquettish look over his shoulder, "That being said, I could use some spirited sunshine by my side on this rainy day. Would you care to join me for a walk on the wild side, Little Miss Polkadot Galoshes?"

The words dribbled off his tongue like dollops of whipped cream—light and sweet and smooth.

"—Or _wet_ side, I should say," Klaus amended with a smirk.

"Caroline. My name is Caroline," she grumbled begrudgingly, unable to bare any more flowery endearments.

Why she continued to engage with this man, this smug, infuriating, drenched-to-the-bone accented stranger, she had no idea (he could be a raging psychopath trolling for teenage blondes for all she knew!), but she couldn't stop. She could _not_ stop.

His magnetism fishhooked her by the waist and dizzied her brain like the loop-de-loops of a merry-go-round, all the while drawing nearer the center of his busy noise. She became a bumblebee—buzzing and fussing before the open doors of his beehive with suspicion fluttering her wings above the honeycomb he presented at her feet—part-fascinated, part-vexed that the potent prick of his stinger unsettled her the moment they first met.

Already late for lunch with Bonnie, Stefan, and Elena at the Grill, Caroline picked up the pace and ignored the alluring hum of her raised heartbeat.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she added tartly," but cold and wet aren't my thing. I'm not an amphibian who enjoys splashing in icy puddles, thank you." Turning the corner onto another back road, she gestured in dismissal. "Enjoy your rain."

"Ouch. That's a little harsh, Caroline."

Klaus, refusing to take the hint, followed her and feigned hurt by clutching his hands to his chest. Behaving like she'd lodged a corrosive arrow into his heart.

"I may be British, sweetheart, but I'm not cold-blooded…at least not where you're concerned, " he purred.

Flattery poured from Klaus' mouth like a faucet splashing hard against Caroline's ears. It begged for her to drink, drink, drink. To sink, sink, sink. What a drowning effect this man possessed!

"I'm grateful to you, you see," he explained, "for you've distracted me from the rage I felt against the sister-in-law who threw me out of the car when I commented on her poor taste in music this morning. Katherine's always been a petulant little minx, truth be told, but I find I don't resent my castaway meandering any longer."

"Is that so?" Caroline replied, eyebrow arched at him skeptically.

Oddly enough, in the same way that oxygen entered and carbon dioxide exited, words of seduction transformed into words of sincerity as Klaus spoke, "Precisely so, yes. Like the rain, your lively company has restored me—you have brightened not only my mood, but my day. Is that so hard for you to believe?" he asked.

Yes. Yes, it was.

While Caroline's fingers moved to scratch at this pesky new nerve he had struck, at these unsanctioned goosebumps his continued presence had prickled against her skin, her mouth itched to sass, sass, _sass_.

"Listen, Gene Kelly," she quipped as she stopped to address him, "I don't know how they do things in the U.K., but here in America, being abandoned in the rain doesn't warrant a tap dance down the middle of the street."

"I beg your pardon, but I'll have you know that I'm a _strutter_ …not a tapper," Klaus replied cheekily.

Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Just _Saturday Night Fever_ yourself over to the sidewalk, would you? As a member of the town's Beautification Committee, I'd hate to see you get run over. Or worse, mar our beautiful streets with your British roadkill," she added teasingly.

Looking left to right to left, eyes surveying the vacant road stretched before them, heavy rain still pelting his clothes and sticking to skin, teeth chattering from cold, he scratched his head and turned to look at her with interest twinkling in his blue eyes, "By all the cars?" he prodded.

Was it her, or did this suddenly feel like a scene from _the Notebook_?

"Traffic or not—" a blush reddened Caroline's cheeks as she shrugged at him nonchalantly "—I thought you'd enjoy a walk on the dry side of things for a while? There _should_ be enough room under this umbrella for two…" she trailed off.

Tilting her head, she fluttered her eyelashes and bit her bottom lip, shocked at her own forwardness.

"I can make room for you if you want?" she offered shyly.

As the clouds continued to coat Mystic Falls with pellets of heavy raindrops, creating a romantic musicality with the pitter-patter on rooftops, Klaus crossed the street and assumed refuge beside her.

"I feel warmer already," he breathed with delight, his wet shoulder brushing against hers as they passed along the sidewalk together.

* * *

 **Short-ish, but full of fluff and banter, no? Reviews are wonderful. xx**


	14. Half Reflection, Half Refraction

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : I haven't had much time for fic-writing this week, but inspiration struck after I stumbled across a gif set by niklausxcaroline on Tumblr. Happy reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

 _"People think a soul mate is your perfect fit and that_ _'_ _s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror: the person who shows you everything that is holding you back. The person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life._ _"_

* * *

Mirror, mirror, that hangs not on the wall, but affronts with _unbelievable_ gall—its two halves perch across from one another standing confident, challenging, and tall. One half flips her hair with a scoff; the other drops his gaze and smirks. But neither can fool the tethered connection they share that outwits them all. It spins them around and around and around like a string attached to a whirling boomerang ball.

Klaus and Caroline slip and slide and stick together like tectonic plates of glass—not big, but not small. Reflect and refract, they do, but it is fate's game they play in sarcastic spades above all.

"How did he come to occupy this piece of my heart I don't know what to call?" Caroline wonders to herself, half-appalled.

"Come closer." Klaus' eyes flicker subtly, softly, like a whisper. "Come and stand on my toes. I will be your thorn and you will be my rose. Let us twirl until we write ourselves a magical story that nobody knows."

Caroline knows if she goes, she will fade into him like a ghost into a wall. Fear plays her heart in acoustic guitar strings and hums for her to stall, stall, stall. To halt that lightning bolt he sends full of complete and utter _enthrall_.

"Will you catch me if I fall?"

"I'll cradle you like a jewel wrapped in a precious shawl, although I know you're more than delighted to brawl," Klaus quips with a wink and a slight bow.

Caroline smiles.

"I'm glad you never treat me like some breakable china doll."

On his knees, he tosses aside his sword and surrenders to her love. He crawls and crawls, hoping—waiting—for reciprocation to flash in her eyes in the same way a perfect answer appears in a magic eightball.

"People like you and I may crack, love, but we never _ever_ fall," Klaus drawls.

"With you, me, plus eternity," Caroline answers full of satisfaction, "we are powerful overall."

Two slivers of the same mirror they are—hanging on opposite sides of the same endless wall. Caroline casts the strongest of light on the right, burning hot, vibrant, and tempestuous like giant sun balls; Klaus absorbs nefarious shadows on the left and enchants with the darkness of a voodoo doll. Together, they're hands-clasped-and-swinging in pendulum lull, the incarnation of eternity that becomes the exact opposite of dull.

King and Queen, they rule side-by-side taking friends and foes in stride. Some live; many die, but only the two whose intertwined hearts reflect, refract, and refine love in a way impossible to define survive the eclogues of history. Together, Klaus and Caroline live, learn, and love—time after time…

* * *

 **Short and sweet this time, and written within the confines of my phone notes haha. (No joke.) Reviews are lovely. Thank you for reading and for the support. Ya'll are amazing!**

 **xx**


	15. Every Savage Can Tweet

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Long time no update, sorry! As I take a break from my original work and multi-chapter fic-crafting, I give you all a fluffy and absurd Twitter-shenanigans drabble. (I couldn't use the at symbol on FFnet. Some lines may be more than 140 characters. #poeticlicense) Happy KC Positivity Week!**

 **P.S. I hope it's not too hard to follow. I have no idea how I come up with socialmedia!crack?**

 **Have at it. ;)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

( _June 6_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ \- 8h: Beware! The King of Kreepers tweet-stalks from the Internet shadows… [ _inserts gif of Scar from_ the Lion King _, BE PREPAAAAARED_ ]

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 7h: …Those fingers primed and preened to like, like, like.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 6h: …Doesn't matter if it's morning. Or afternoon. Or the middle of the night.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 5h: There's anxiety and anticipation thrumming from the keys of that untouched keyboard—I feel it.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 4h: And yet, this is nothing but a game. Nothing but a game with a lion-cat chasing after a mouse.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 3h: This patient predator hangs on the tweeted words my lips may never pronounce out loud.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 2h: Ha! Who the hell am I kidding? At you, I've never been afraid to shout, shout, SHOUT.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1h: Tireless ignorance makes me pout.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1h: Annnnnd you still have no idea what I'm rambling about, do you?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 59m: _*devil horns emoji*_ [ _inserts EVIL LAUGHTER gif]_

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 10_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ \- 2h: You observe me.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 2h: …sincerely smug as you sit tucked away behind that not-so-anonymous screen.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1h: You listen.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1h: …not with ears, but with yellow eyes that forget to blink at text where new knowledge of me gleams.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 42m: Obnoxiously aware, you read and read and read me.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 41m: …but never venture to speak?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 38m: Why not, why not, why not? I manage to squeak.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 37m: Is this some ancient form of flirting I have yet to meet-and-greet?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 37m: Should I put it in words more concrete? It sucks, it sucksss.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 11_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ -16m: Take a bloody hint, the little birdies chirp. They "tweet" and "tweet" and "TWEET."

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 14_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ \- 32m: What is it you hope to see?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 29m: One lonely snowflake twirling from a string?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 22m: Or maybe a hummingbird flying high, working hard to flap its wings?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 8m: Hey, ho—it's ME! [ _inserts Instagram selfie of herself sticking out her tongue and thumbs-downing the camera_ ]

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 15_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ \- 10h: Pick a language. You know many.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 10h: Hands tearing through hair, hands wringing in the air, I throw my head back and SCREAM.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroling Cares** \- 49s: ¡Díos mío! I believe you've forgotten what it means to be young, wild, and free. smh #oldfartproblems

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 18_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ \- 2s: [ _uploads YouTube video of Adam Lambert singing "Whataya Want From Me"_ ]

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 19_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueenC_ \- 19h: Guess how much you annoy me?

 _( **Waiting Wolf Klaus** liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 19h: * _books emoji_ * x10

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 19h: Hopeless. [ _inserts gif of person repeatedly banging head against desk_ ]

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 20_ ):

 **Caroline Cares** _VampedQueen C_ \- 20m: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person in possession of infinitely liked tweets, must be in want of a LIFE.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _and_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** _sinnersaintenzo_ -19m: _VampedQueenC_ But, but, buuut…to be fond of tweet-liking is a certain step towards falling in love. Just fyi, gorgeous ;)

 _(_ ** _BonBon_** _and_ ** _queen-of-fierce PIERCE_** _liked and retweeted_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo_** _'s Tweet)_

 **queen-of-fierce PIERCE** _elijahsKitKatCutie_ -17m: _sinnersaintenzo_ _VampedQueenC_ Maybe if he tweet-stalked less, he'd be able to talk about it more ? Just sayin…

 _(_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo_** _and_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _liked_ ** _queen-of-fierce PIERCE_** _'s Tweet)_

 **theKOLmonster** _kissablekiller_ -17m: _elijahsKitKatcutie sinnersaintenzo VampedQueenC_ Haven't you ever heard that "every savage can [tweet]?" MUAHAHA [ _inserts BITCH I'M FABULOUS gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _BonBon_** _and 2 others retweeted_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _'s Tweet)_

 **BonBon** _trickedywitchBB_ \- 16m: _kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo VampedQueenC_ -13 m: Hah! Darling Kol, Twitter working on a weak head produces every kind of mischief, am I right? _*kissy emoji*_

 _(_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _liked a Tweet he was mentioned in)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 12m: _trickedywitchBB kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo_ Lol manipulating Austen, too, guys? Seriously? #woeisme

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** \- 12m: _VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie_ Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of Twitter-"kreeping," don't you agree? ;)

 **queen-of-fierce PIERCE** -11m: _sinnersaintenzo VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB kissablekiller_ Girls of sense, Enzo, whatever you may choose to say about it, do not want nosy social media SPIES. _*crying with laughter emoji*_ #guiltyandiknowit

 _(_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo_** _and 3 others liked this Tweet)_

 **theKOLmonster** -10m: _elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB_ I have been a nosy being all my life, tho? [ _inserts SORRY NOT SORRY gif_ ]

 **BonBon** -10m: _VampedQueenC kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo_ You know what they say, Care—"those who do not complain are never pitied." :-p

 **Caroline Cares** -9m: _trickedywitchBB elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo kissablekiller_ OMG staaaaaap! * _prayer hands emoji_ * x5

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **theKOLmonster** \- 8m: _VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo_ In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My impeccable wit cannot be checked or repressed! [ _inserts I'M SEXY AND I KNOW IT gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _BonBon_** _and 3 others_ _liked_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _'s Tweet)_

 **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** \- 8m: _VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB elijahsKitKatCutie kissablekiller_ You must allow me to tell you how ardently I aspire to BUG you. _*heart eyes emoji*_

 _(_ ** _queen-of-fierce PIERCE_** _and 2 others liked_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo's_** _Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 7m: _sinnersaintenzo trickedywitchBB elijahsKitKatCutie kissablekiller_ How tf is this happening rn? * _laughing emoji_ *

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **BonBon** \- 6m: _VampedQueenC sinnersaintenzo elijahsKitKatCutie kissablekiller_ It is too long ago now…?

 **queen-of-fierce PIERCE** \- 5m: _trickedywitchBB VampedQueenC sinnersaintenzo kissablekiller_ ^^…I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.^^ _*angel halo emoji* *devil horns emoji*_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 3m: _elijahsKitKatCutie trickedywitchBB sinnersaintenzo kissablekiller_ Incessant likes and mocking from my online peeps, huh? smh

 **Caroline Cares** \- 2m: _elijahsKitKatCutie trickedywitchBB sinnersaintenzo kissablekiller_ ARE THE SHADES OF TWITTERDOM TO BE THUS POLLUTED? [ _inserts I'M IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTION gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _and 4 others liked these 2 of **Caroline Cares** 's Tweets)_

 **theKOLmonster** \- 1m: _VampedQueenC eljahsKitKatCutie trickedywitchBB sinnersaintenzo_ I keep waiting for the shame but…yeaaa. I got nada. Woot, woot! [ _inserts a Mr. Darcy SWAGGER gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _queen-of-fierce PIERCE_** _and_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo_** _liked and Retweeted_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _'s Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 33s: _kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie trickedywitchBB sinnersaintenzo_ Lol lbr, there's a special place in social media hell for Every. Last. One. Of. You.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _and 4 others liked this Tweet)_

 **BonBon** \- 17s: _VampedQueenC kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie sinnersaintenzo_ * _shrugs_ * At least it won't be lonely?

 **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** 14s: _trickedywitchBB VampedQueenC kissablekiller elijahsKitKatCutie_ Or dull. ;)

 **queen-of-fierce PIERCE** 5s: _sinnersaintenzo trickedywitchBB VampedQueenC kissablekiller_ Especially not when the cute one's around. (aka: ME)

xxx

* * *

( _June 21_ ):

 **Sleeping Beauty Elena** _dopplegangeredOUT_ \- 5h: Commissioning that tweet-avalanche didn't work, I see. _VampedQueenC_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 3h: _dopplegangeredOUT_ Ik, right? Went. Straight. Over. The. Headdd. _*eye roll emoji*_

 ** _(Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **BonBon** \- 3h: _VampedQueenC dopplegangeredOUT_ Down for some fun, ladies?

 **Sleeping Beauty Elena** \- 2h: _trickedywitchBB VampedQueenC_ [ _inserts Mulan gif, LET'S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS_ ]

 _(_ ** _BonBon_** _and_ ** _Caroline Cares_** _liked_ ** _Sleeping Beauty Elena's_** _Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 2h: _dopplegangeredOUT trickedywitchBB_ To defeat the Hunsss? Hell yes!

 **BonBon** \- 2h: _VampedQueenC dopplegangeredOUT_ Or in this case, to awaken one oblivious "original" pain in the BUM. _*winky face emoji*_

 _(_ ** _Caroline Cares_** _and_ ** _Sleeping Beauty Elena_** _liked and retweeted_ ** _BonBon_** _'s Tweet)_

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked 1 of_ ** _Caroline Cares_** _'s Tweets and Retweets)_

 **Sleeping Beauty Elena** \- 2h: _trickedywitchBB dopplegangeredOUT_ Don't either one of you find this whole thing kind of endearing? Just a little? Bc I do ? _*embarrassed emoji*_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 2h: _dopplegangeredOUT trickedywitchBB_ Inarguably no. No, no, no, no, and no! Oh, btw, did I mention NO?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **BonBon** -2h: _dopplegangeredOUT trickedywitchBB_ I do, I do! And hilarious, Elena. Totes hilarious.

 _(_ ** _Sleeping Beauty Elena_** _liked 2 Tweets she was mentioned in)_

 **Sleeping Beauty Elena** \- 2h: _trickedywitchBB VampedQueenC_ Right, Bon? Tell me this whole mess isn't giving you Beauty and the Beast vibes.

 **Sleeping Beauty Elena** -2h: _trickedwitchBB VampedQueenC_ * _music note emoji* "_ Tale as old as time…True as it can be…" _*music note emoji*_

 **BonBon** \- 2h: _dopplegangeredOUT VampedQueenC_ Omfg yaaaas! She's the Belle to his Beast. _*applause emoji*_

 **BonBon** \- 2h: _dopplegangeredOUT VampedQueenC_ "Barely even FRIENDS. Then somebody bends. Unexpectedly…"

 **BonBon** \- 2h: _dopplegangeredOUT VampedQueenC_ It fits perfectly, Elena, I s2g! [ _inserts FANGIRLING_ gif]

 _(_ ** _BonBon_** _liked 2 Tweets she was mentioned in)_

 _(_ ** _Sleeping Beauty Elena_** _liked 3 Tweets she was mentioned in)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1h: _trickedywitchBB dopplegangeredOUT_ [ _inserts NOT AMUSED_ gif]

 **Caroline Cares** -1h: _trickedywitchBB dopplegangeredOUT_ Be happy this isn't a fairy tale, chicas.

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1h: _trickedywitchBB dopplegangeredOUT_ Bc you 2 would have poisoned apples with your names written on them rn… _*glaring emoji*_

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked these 3 of_ ** _Caroline_** _Cares's Tweets)_

 **HeXed by BeX** _loveandfangs_ **-** 1h: _VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB dopplegangeredOUT_ Aggressively, but gladly, butts in: #EvilMikaelsonQueen: _[inserts YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _and 4 others liked **HeXed by BeX** 's Tweet) _

**queen-of-fierce PIERCE** _elijahsKitKatCutie_ \- 1h: _loveandfangs VampedQueenC trickedywitchBB dopplegangered OUT_ Preach, Rebekah. Preachhhh.

xxx

* * *

( _June 22, afternoon_ ):

 **SnarkSharkDamon** _eternalstudSalvatore_ \- 45m: Klaus the Hybrid sitting behind a screen, S-T-A-R-I-N-G. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 44m: First comes the tweets, then comes the liking, then comes Care with her heartbeat spiking. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 42m: Klaus the Hybrid tearing out his spleen: M-I-S-S-I-N-G. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 41m: First comes longing, then comes brooding, then comes a lot of Twitter perusing. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **Caroline Cares** -38m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ Excuse you, DEMON—I mean Damon * _angel halo emoji_ * but WTF are you doing?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _like **Caroline Cares** 's Tweet_)

 _(Sleeping_ ** _Beauty Elena_** _and 5 others liked 4 Tweets_ ** _Caroline Cares_** _was mentioned in)_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 38m: _VampedQueenC_ It's called rhyming.

 **Caroline Cares** \- 37m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ Can you stop?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 37m: _VampedQueenC_ Hmm. Hmmmmm…

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 37m: _VampedQueenC_ No.

 **Caroline Cares** -37m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ You. Are. Satan. Incarnate!

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 _(_ ** _BonBon_** _,_ ** _queen-of-fierce PIERCE_** _and_ ** _HeXed by BeX_** _liked and Retweeted a Tweet_ ** _SnarkSharkDamon_** _was mentioned in.)_

 **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** -36m: _eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ Hah. What else you got, mate? Keep 'em coming.

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 42m: Care the Bombshell almost ready to scream, T-I-C-K-I-N-G. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** _-_ 41m: First comes friends, then comes jokes, then comes sass that'll slit their throats. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 _(_ ** _Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo_** _and_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _liked and Retweeted 2 of_ ** _SnarkSharkDamon_** _'s Tweets)_

 **HeXed by BeX** _loveandfangs_ \- 41m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ I can't wait until she murders you. Moron.

 **Caroline Cares** \- 41m: _loveandfangs eternalstudSalvatore_ Want to help, Rebekah? Put those Original fangs and designer stilettos to good use?

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _and_ ** _HeXed by BeX_** _liked this Tweet)_

 **HeXed by BeX** \- 41m: _VampedQueenC eternalstudSalvatore_ Hell bloody yes! #TeamBitchinBarbie

 _(_ ** _Caroline Cares_** _liked_ ** _HeXed by BeX_** _'s Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 40m _:_ Hey _eternalstudSalvatore_ your tweeting days are numbered. _loveandfangs_ and I are gonna feed you your own fingers as if they were chicken fingers. _*glaring emoji*_ x3

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _,_ ** _HeXed by Bex_** _,_ _and 5 others liked this Tweet)_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 40m: _VampedQueenC_ Care the Bombshell being rather mean: H-I-S-S-I-N-G.

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 39m: _VampedQueenC_ First comes anger, then comes denial, then comes truth that puts her heart on trial. ;) ;)

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 38m: Yo _VampedQueenC_ just so ya know: [ _inserts I REGRET NOTHING gif_ ]

 **Caroline Cares** \- 36m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ Ass.

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

xxx

* * *

( _June 22, evening_ ):

 **SnarkSharkDamon** _eternalstudSalvatore_ \- 9m: Klaus the Hybrid waiting on his queen, W-I-S-H-I-N-G. _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** \- 7m: First comes patience, then comes hope, then comes the day Care's dying to elope! _*crown emoji*_ _VampedQueenC crownedmikaelson_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 7m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ I freaking hate you. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU [ _inserts PREPARE TO DIE gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _liked this Tweet)_

 _(_ ** _Sleeping Beauty Elena_** _and 5 others liked and Retweeted 2 of_ ** _SnarkSharkDamon_** _'s Tweets)_

 **theKOLmonster** _kissablekiller_ \- 6m: _eternalstudSalvatore_ Together we stand! #TeamKlaroline [ _inserts YouTube video of the "I Can Hear the Bells" scene from Hairspray_ ]

 _(_ ** _HeXed by BeX, queen-of-fierce PIERCE, BonBon_** _and 2 others Retweeted_ ** _theKOLmonster_** _'s Tweet)_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 5m: Somebody SAAAAAVE me from this ridiculous insanityyy. _*sobbing emoji*_

 **Caroline Cares** -5m: Bueller? Bueller?

 **Caroline Cares** \- 5m: Goddammit, Klaus! Get off your royal snoozing ass and tweet Damon all the way back to HELL where he belongs, would ya? Puh-lease! _*prayer hands emoji*_

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** _crownedmikaelson_ \- 4m: _VampedQueenC_ As you wish, love. As you wish. [ _inserts I'M A SLAVE FOR YOU gif_ ]

 _(_ ** _theKOLmonster, HeXed by BeX,_** _and 8 others liked_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _'s Tweet)_

 **SnarkSharkDamon** _-_ 4m: _crownedmikaelson VampedQueenC_ I think someone still has a pretty big "thing" for a certain blonde vampire…

( _ **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** and 7 others liked a Tweet **Waiting Wolf Klaus** and **Caroline cares** were mentioned in)_

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 3m: _eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ 3 things, Salvatore.

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 3m: _eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueen C_ 1) Clearly you want to die, otherwise you wouldn't make such bloody idiotic remarks.

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 3m: _eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ 2) It's more than a "thing." I'm in it to win it, mate. ;)

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 2m: _eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ 3) Since I'm one half of Klaroline, I more than care. I Klare.

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 2m: _eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ I KLARE, I KLARE, I KLARE. And that's #forever _VampedQueenC_ _*kissy emoji* *heart eyes emoji* *red heart emoji* x5_

 _(_ ** _SnarkSharkDamon_** _and 8 others liked 6 of_ ** _Waiting Wolf Klaus_** _'s Tweets)_

 **SnarkShark Damon** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson VampedQueenC_ Touché, Mikaelson. Touché.

 **Sleeping Beauty Elena** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalSalvatore VampedQueenC_ Love, love, love is in the air…

 **BonBon** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalSalvatore VampedQueenC_ Get it, Care! Get ittttt. [ _inserts I'M TOTALLY FANGIRLING gif_ ]

 **queen-of-fierce PIERCE** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalSalvatore VampedQueenC_ I like the poetry of Klaroline. _*thumbs-up emoji*_

 **theKOLmonster** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalSalvatore VampedQueenC_ MY NAME IS KOL MIKAELSON AND I APPROVE THIS KLAROLINE MESSAGE.

 **Dodgy (Saint) Lorenzo** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalSalvatore VampedQueenC_ All hail Queen Caroline! We ALL Klare about you now, gorgeous. ;)

 **HeXed by BeX** \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalSalvatore VampedQueenC_ 1 + 1= 2. 2 women to annoy Nik for the rest of eternity? Good odds. #cheers

 **hero-haired-impairedStefan** _solemnstef_ \- 2m: _crownedmikaelson eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ Dude, what tf did I miss? _*broken heart emoji*_

 **Elijah Suited** _elijahmikaelson_ \- 2m: _solemnstef crownedmikaelson eternalstudSalvatore VampedQueenC_ I believe the word you're looking for, Stefan, is Klaroline.

xxx

 _Despite the magnitude of "mentioned in" notifications blasting up her Twitter feed, Caroline directs her responses to only ONE person…_

 **Caroline Cares** \- 1m: _crownedmikaelson_ Klaus…you can actually tweet?

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 58s: _VampedQueenC_ Of course.

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 57s: _VampedQueenC_ I may be ancient, sweetheart, but I'm not technology-deficient. ;)

 **Caroline Cares** \- 51s: _crownedmikaelson_ Seriously? I mean, SERIOUSLY.

 **Waiting Wolf Klaus** \- 40s: _VampedQueenC_ [ _inserts Legally Blonde gif, WHAT, LIKE IT'S HARD?_ ]

* * *

 **Definite Twitter crack, right? haha. (I feel so silly.)** **Thanks for the support, ya'll! Reviews would be lovely. xx**


	16. Not All Dreams Need Wings

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is inspired by a Titanic AU graphic I saw by leeloships on Tumblr. (Because I just couldn't help myself.) I hope you like it! :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Amid the rose-rimmed teacups and elegant table tapestries sits Caroline Forbes with her gloved hands clasped prettily in her lap, dressed in restricting finery lined with silk and lace—a delicate violet hue that brings out the arresting shade of her eyes—blushing and simpering at wealthy patrons who engage her in trivial conversation. She twirls a loose blonde curl around her finger and nibbles at the edges of a cucumber sandwich, toes tapping to the classical strum of the violinists' instruments as they pluck strings before the French doors of the ship's dining parlor. She's the perfect sketch-subject for an artist who wishes to depict prosperous contentment…except she's empty. Wanting. Incomplete.

All this time screaming, screaming, screaming on the inside: _Let me out, let me out, let me out! Pretty, pretty PLEASE._

Her stifled wings bang and bang against this golden cage of status and modern aristocracy. Locked. Forever imprisoned in a world of decorous expectation and arranged engagements meant to stack hills of money before her feet. Forever stuck in perfect posture, in uncomfortable shoes that pinch her feet, in silly corsets that make it impossible to breathe. Always parading among pompous buffoons who prefer cigars and brandy to poetry that describes beauties in a manner that's not concrete.

Caroline wants none of it. _None._

Desperate for solitude, her heels click against the slippery, ocean-specked deck in a mad dash. Face drenched and dripping with mascara tears, she busts through swinging doors and strolling couples as she flies away, away, _away_ from all those stuck-up prigs who circle her like slave-bidding hawks. They wield diamond chains, tucking them beneath top hats and under coattails. They want to bind her by the wrists. To place an undivorcable knot around the ring finger of her left hand. Transforming her into a pretty puppet wife, nothing more than a perky blonde trophy to shine and dazzle on the crook of a husband's arm at parties, plays, and poker games.

 _I will not, I will not, I will not! I will not succumb. I will not become what they want of me._

Caroline flees to the hull of this grand ship, the Titanic. Needing the feel of salty air tearing through her hair. Breezing against her dress. Splashing against her projected limbs. Airborne at long last!

 _I'll jump_ , she thinks as she removes pointed-toe shoes from her feet. _I'll jump high and dive out—I'll hit the water below long before anyone sees. Before anyone misses me._

She just needs air and clouds and the welcoming embrace of this bottomless dark sea—

—But a man appears before her, Niklaus Mikaelson he claims to be, all rugged and accented—shadowed in the moonlight like a ghostly sea urchin who haunts the waves.

"Don't do it," he warns, his hands raised not in threat but in plea. "The water is frigid. It will cut across you like a million icy daggers."

Caroline sniffs back tears, wipes at her eyes, then lifts her chin up high. "Maybe I don't care about the temperature, mister. Did you bother to consider that before you interrupted me?" she spits back saucily.

"Yes, I did actually," he answers with a smirk, "but seeing as how I'd have no choice but to dive in after you should you jump, I care about how hard the water will slice _me_."

As he speaks, Klaus kicks off his left and right shoes; he yanks off his socks, then after shaking his arms out of a tattered peacoat, he drops them all into a piled ball in front of the railing where he stands guard. Challenge radiates from him and his discarded clothes. He almost dares her to proceed.

Waiting for her next move, he cocks his head to the side and squints. Smiles. Rolling up his sleeves.

Caroline raises weary eyes to his face and sighs, "I just want to be free."

"Is that so?" Klaus replies, appraising her closely.

Serious but sensuous lines cut across his jaw as he reaches beneath his rumpled collared shirt to extract a heart-shaped emblem, ripping the fastened chain from around his neck and stepping forward with the necklace resting flat in his palm. Offering it to her in all its glimmering midnight blue decadence.

"Isn't it a little early to be gifting me your heart?" Caroline jokes nervously, her fingers trailing the base of her throat as she glances around the abandoned deck. They were alone. "I mean, I only just met you."

"Don't worry, love." Klaus flicks his eyelashes upward like a lifting curtain to reveal two steady, dark eyes brimming with ancient secrets and soulful penetration, some instinctual understanding lingering in their depths, "It's not a heart, but a _key_."

"A key?" she blanches.

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching at the sound of her confusion.

"You are no bird; no net or gilded cage ensnares you," he says.

Klaus reaches out and lifts the hand which dangles at her waist, her left, turning it over. He presses the blue-hearted diamond into her palm and squeezes. Their two hands rest atop one another, forming different boundaries for the same secret compartment—hiding a treasure only they two now perceive.

"You don't need wings, Caroline. If you want to fly…if you want to truly live, not just survive," he explains, "then take this key—" Using his finger like a paintbrush, he outlines the shape of the pendant against her skin "—and set yourself free."

With those rough, sturdy hands of his holding her hands, with those wise words wobbling her knees, Caroline finds the strength to flee the shallow life full of the high class elite and social etiquette she detests. Not with wings, but with _feet_. Better yet, she finds solace in Klaus the Artist who rivals the richest in this world with a passion for life that few other men can meet.

* * *

 **Reviews are wonderful. xx**


	17. Empty Throne

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : A mini-drabble inspired by the song "Let Her Go" by Passenger. **

**P.S. A big thanks to all you readers for your comments and support. You rock! ;)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Sighing into the bottom of an empty bourbon glass, he shuts his eyes and feels the ghost of her kiss feather across his goosebumping lips, hears the _show me the mercy I would show you_ fog the scalding air in his ears, sways in the chiffon blue honesty she stitches into his grasping fingertips, traces her ageless golden light with longing, rapturous eyes, tastes the goodbye littering the silence between them although she fails to speak. With unmistakable warmth, she beams through centuries of iron-plated armor and extracts his tired soul. She exposes not just parts of it, but the entire sum of the whole.

 _You see her when you close your eyes_

 _Maybe one day you'll understand why_

Her handprints mark him all over. Everywhere. Like she's pinched redness back into his soul and doesn't care how much it hurts.

And oh, how it hurts! The bloody agony of feeling, feeling, feeling. Breathing, breathing, breathing. Missing her so much he thrashes streaks of her unforgettable color into his days just to halt the impassioned screaming, screaming of the hollow darkness that persists in her absence. He reaches out toward her flickering flame—grasping for heat he forever strains to touch, never blinking as the dot hastens farther astray and leaves him cold. Still alone and shivering at beautiful memories every day.

 _You only need the light when it's burning low_

 _Only miss the sun when it starts to snow_

Caroline's there—but only in echo. She tantalizes him in the echo-echo of a perfect dream because Klaus let her go. He let her go.

 _You see her when you fall asleep_

 _But never to touch and never to keep_

 _…Cause you dived too deep_

Klaus swats at this lonely feeling that threatens to ribbon him apart. Dumps the dim luster of New Orleans into his lap and builds an empire, then a throne where he can rest his aching, blistering feet. He deposits severed werewolf heads and witch limbs into the middle of the bleeding street, licking his fangs like the deranged psychopath they all expect to meet during an encounter with the famed Hybrid King. But kindness and forgiveness spit from those same teeth like blood when he offers city alliances to others with hope and not greed. Peace treaties.

Oh, if only Caroline could see—if only Caroline could believe how much she's reformed him into this snarling T-Rex with a kneading man's heart, indeed.

 _Only know you've been high when you're feeling low_

 _Only hate the road when you're missing home_

xxx

 _Staring at the ceiling in the dark_

 _Same old empty feeling in your heart_

Klaus grows into a ruler who's both feared and admired. He transforms into the bastard brother who finally, truly believes in the unwavering power of family, _always and forever_. He embodies the epitome of redemptive potential—all of that whirling, raging, unlimited _combustion_ bursting and billowing from within him in thick folds of dexterity tinged with humanity. He's auspicious. Brave. Flagrant. Alive.

Klaus is everything. Almost everything.

 _Hoping one day you'll make a dream last_

 _But dreams come slow and they go so fast_

There's still an open space inside of him…an empty Caroline throne.

It's a place where only her absence roams. Because before she asks or demands, because no matter how much his heart begs to stay, stay, stay, Klaus drops his fingers from her wrists and speaks _choice_ in a way that his lips never need to say. With one parting nod, smile, kiss, word, or _click,_ he always sets her free. He walks away.

And although it may not be forever, a goodbye to her in any form is a sentiment he struggles and staunchly _hates_ to convey…

 _Only know you love her when you let her go_

 _And you let her go_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Concise and perhaps a little angsty, but I hope you liked it. Reviews are lovely. xx**


	18. El Sabor del Sol, Sangre, y Salsa

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is for the lovely Elle, hummingbirds-and-champagne on Tumblr/Bianca Delacroix on FFnet, for the KC Vaycay Gift Exchange. Post-canonish. No babies. Beachy setting. A little Spanish.**

 **(Title translated: The Taste of Sun, Blood, and Salsa)**

 **Enjoy and thank you all for the amazing support! :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Caroline had fled to beautiful Playa del Carmen, Mexico to immerse herself in sun, rum, anonymous human blood, and tequila on the rocks—not men. Stefan Spineless Salvatore had polluted her heart further with cynicism on that subject when he'd said goodbye. In a letter. Seven years, countless foiled supernatural plots, steady friendship, and one unsatisfying romance later and he couldn't bear the break-up awkwardness long enough to wish her well on her worldwide excursion in person. His farewell words were well-articulated and sincere, of course, but in a _letter_ nevertheless.

 _The freaking coward._

A few months ago, thanks to her copious research and Bonnie's magic, they'd commandeered a witchy Kai-loophole and had managed to restore Elena back to the land of the not-perpetually-sleeping, sending both Salvatores drooling after her like conditioned dogs. They'd panted before her for belly-rubbed treats and had fetched long-buried bones whenever she'd whistled for their help. Moreover, they'd both decided to drink the cure and finish their days as humans and not as vampires.

This, ironically, wasn't particularly all that upsetting to those of them who still remained behind in Mystic Falls. Or surprising, either.

Thankfully, Caroline's (deluded) romantic idealism of Stefan already had begun to wane by that point. The halo-like glow she'd sworn once swirled around his _perfect boyfriend_ head had begun to dim…then expire. He'd already brushed her aside to save Damon numerous times during their three years together and had forgotten to include her in important decisions, clueing her into the reality of the secondary status she held in his life. She was his guilty afterthought, not his priority.

Deep-down, Caroline knew she deserved better…but had hesitated to extricate herself from the relationship at first. She'd clung and hung and swung from the shriveled piece of _I'm yours_ twine he'd once offered. Making excuses for its hollow, just-words construction until it disintegrated in her hands and revealed the truth: he never was.

 _He is Damon's. He is Elena's. Never was he mine—never, never._

Stefan became a crutch. Nothing but a debilitating weakness that had subdued the confident, independent artery in her heart. Transfiguring it back into the ugly duckling with the rough and neurotic thumps that no one appreciated, but everyone mocked. Pumping it full of the old _pick me, pick me_ neediness and insecurity she'd felt as a human. He was a box and she'd folded herself into him like a docile gift wearing a bow—understanding and compliant and sweet. Nothing more than a quiet, wordless, suffering white-picket-fence gal whose life bled colorless. And incomplete.

Caroline had allowed Stefan to simplify her in the years they'd dated. Tame her. Restrain those itching-to-explore dragon feet that yearned to kick and stroke through the clouds of eternity. And how she _hated_ herself for it now!

 _Hated, hated, hated._

She blamed herself for allowing small town familiarity to rankle her in dependence. For letting herself swim into Stefan's fishing net so he could cradle her in the outdated dreams she'd once imagined for herself, but had long since outgrown. For permitting herself to barter for his love and attention like a commodity when he should've given it for free.

 _Never again, never again, never again._

As far as men in general were concerned, Caroline would rather drain them all to extinction than contend with with another second of their Casanova-spewing, not-the-one heartbreaking, independence-stifling, abandoning ways. No man—alive or undead—would dare to wobble her knees or sweep her off her feet again. She wouldn't let it happen. She wouldn't.

 _Never again, never again, never again._

No—her damsel'd days of fairy tale prince worship were over for good. Finished. Caroline had stolen back the keys and had climbed down the tower vine with feet, which were wild and unshackled, like they were forever meant to be. She'd reclaimed the vigor of self-worth, then set her caged spirit free.

Mindfully, she thanked her faulty hero for weaponizing her. Crushed fantasy had wielded her back into the cute, conniving queen of death unafraid to punish every last one of these pawing, undeserving bastards who attempted to lasso her off the sturdy throne of Caroline-vertebrae she'd reconstructed for herself. She stood tall and strong and proud again—not on knees, but on her own two feet. And God help the puckering wretches who tried to upend her firm steel cleats!

Caroline would suck deserts into their veins and leave them to rot—desolate—in the brutal windless air as vultures circled above their heads waiting to feast on weary self-disappointment that collected along their bones like meat. She'd let the predators gnaw and gnaw on it. Watching. Relishing as they chewed through confidence and left nothing behind but blood, vacancy, and shivering insecurity.

She'd let all these men _hear_ the crack and tear of regret as self-dignity collapsed in lumbar along their spines. Let them _taste_ the pain of a retracting coupledom leash. Let them _feel_ it…what it meant to be dominated. Devoured from the inside-out. She'd let them _smell_ the sawdust of inconsequentiality as she chafed it like wood from the skin of their hearts, crippling all five senses until they _see_ —how another had made them small…weak, weak, weak.

No, she would not be swept of her feet again. She would not be sliced back down to her knees. No, Caroline Forbes ruled over her own wild heart again, and it would not be stolen; no man _anywhere_ would supersede.

* * *

"Pardon me, miss," a curt voice spoke from her left, fingers trailing the neck of the half empty tequila bottle next to her, "but has no one bothered to inform you that a melancholy lady drinking alone is dangerous?"

The fifth attempt in the last hour. Caroline scowled into her empty glass, almost pitying the polite fool. Almost.

"That depends," she simpered deviously, tone hardening. "Has no one bothered to inform _you_ that a once-perky girl tainted by death, disappointment, and tequila is lethal to _all_ smarmy pick-up artists who attempt to hit on her?"

Her words sliced like blades. Smooth. Sharp. They rendered him silent.

"Go and harass somebody else, Shakespeare. I'm not interested," she barked. Without turning around, she flicked at him like a roach in dismissal. "Besides, that line is older than you are."

"That's quite presumptuous," the man responded as he slid into an adjacent bar stool. "And also…arguable."

Caroline scoffed.

Poised, he'd inclined his head and clasped his hands together, "I'd relayed it not as a line of hopeful advancement, but as a statement of _fact_."

Was he deaf? Dense? Or just asking to die?

"I said," she snarled, the wails of purgatory now slamming hard against her ears, "go… _away_."

Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw him signal to the bartender for another round, intent on staying. "I'm content where I am, thank you."

"Listen, Cary Grant," she growled as she whirled to accost him, "unless you want to wear that sophisticated wagging tongue of yours as a noose-necklace, then I suggest you shut up, buzz off, and leave me the hell alone or _else_!"

"Or else what, precisely?" he challenged.

The absolute nerve of this guy! Who the hell did he think he was? So suave…so patient…so calm…so…so… _infuriating_.

"You have exactly three seconds before I—before I—"

"Yes?"

Like a rubber band, control snapped.

Lurching forward, the veins under her eyes engorging, ferocity zooming across her gums and cranking teeth down, down, down like spiked suspension bridges, Caroline opened her mouth to continue—attack; her fangs bared and snapping as her inner monster shape-shifted outward and hissed to strike. Animalistic wrath leapt from her belly in wolf growls as she sprung to silence this debonair nuisance once and for and all. But as she moved—

"I'd prefer for you _not_ to finish that sentence, if you don't mind," the man scrutinized stoically, head cocked, his vise-like hand suddenly gripping her firmly by the throat.

Caroline couldn't move. Could barely breathe.

"Y-y-you," she choked.

"Yes, _me_." Retaliation evaporated into shock as Elijah Mikaelson tacked her in midair, his amber eyes upbraiding her from beneath pinched eyebrows. "How lovely to see you again, Miss Forbes. A little peckish this evening, are we?" he remarked drily.

She narrowed her eyes at this and silently cursed her inebriated senses for not recognizing his voice earlier. Plucking at his fingers like too-tight shoelaces, she rasped coyly, "Not for—not for Originals. I'm no hun-hunter like M-Mikael."

"I'm delighted to hear that," he clipped, lips upturning slightly. "That would have ruined my entire vacation."

"Becoming a hurl—hurling vampire dart would ruin mine," she countered with a weak smile.

His expression still stern, watchful, Elijah released her.

Caroline plopped back onto her stool with a light _thud_ and a cough, her legs tucking underneath the counter like he'd just been chivalrous enough to push in her seat. She rubbed at her neck and side-eyed him, "I'm glad to find that some things never change," she said. "Paranoia still practically gallops in your family, huh?"

"Among some more than others, I suppose." Aloof, Elijah tugged at his sleeves. Adjusted his Rolex. "But I could accuse you of the same fault, could I not?"

"Tell me," he probed, pining her with a look of austerity as she downed a fresh shot of tequila, "what has you so virulent this evening? So…on-guard?"

"Call me assuming, Miss Forbes, but I've been around a long time…and I'd venture to say you're quite determined to silence some particularly pesky demons with—forgive my frankness here—fang-like flair."

Shifting uncomfortably, her bloodlust petering, Caroline brooded at the counter. This was so _not_ a conversation she wanted to have with anyone tonight (let alone an Original). She had chosen this tropical locale purposely after touring the West Coast. Not to reflect, but to escape.

What rotten luck that this impeccably dressed, empathetic Mikaelson had found her here. Assessed her here. Prepared to advise her here. It was touching—and also totally, undeniably, irrevocably _rude_.

"Blimey, Elijah," a new voice piped in, saving Caroline from the hassle of responding, "how tedious you always manage to be! Can't you understand that she's hear to _suck_ from life, not talk about it?"

Surprise karate-chopped her a second time as Kol materialized at his brother's shoulder with two umbrella drinks in-hand. Unlike the elder Mikaelson who never seemed to part from the formality of a dress shirt and slacks (though his sleeves were currently cuffed neatly above his elbows), Kol looked summery in his khaki shorts, brown Sperrys, and a white shirt which was unbuttoned to reveal his bare torso.

"Worse," he continued, "I _finally_ think something wild is about to happen to you after centuries of all that Mr. Wrinkle Free nonsense and then you go and ruin it at all!" He shook his head and groaned, "Where is your sense of adventure?"

"According to you," Elijah replied wryly, "I am an insufferable bore and have none."

He took a sip of red wine.

"Exactly!" Kol chided, raising a drink in cheered salute. "So why not let her—hello there darling," he winked at Caroline, "—why not let her have a little, _teensy_ bite? What could it possibly have hurt?"

"Kol."

"What? he goaded. "No one would have minded."

Elijah rubbed at his temple with his index finger. He never had tolerated absurdity well, Caroline remembered.

"Not to mention, we _all_ know one slurp from your stiff, stale neck would sober up the poor girl with _yawns_ for the next three decades."

Mouth crinkling with amusement, Kol took a large swig of his sex on the beach and leaned in all bedrooms eyes to add to Caroline in a whisper, "This one's rubbish, honeybuns. Why, his blood probably tastes of nothing except Armani and used library books, bland and boring as can be. But mine—"

"Ick." Rebekah swooped in like a hawk, swiping the extra drink out of her brother's hand. "Stop now and spare yourself the humiliation, I beg of you. No one, and I repeat _no one_ wants a drink from you," she quipped.

Caroline's mouth filled with sand.

This was unbelievable! Was her beachy getaway about to be invaded by _every_ damn Mikaelson from New Orleans? Hell, the only ones yet to make an appearance were Finn, Freya, and…

—Stopping herself, she decided to leave that name unthought and that chapter unopened. He wasn't here to acknowledge, anyway. (Thank God.) Yep, she'd keep that name in the locked safe of her mind where it (and he) belonged.

"I suppose that extends to you, too, eh, sister?" Kol baited.

Rebekah popped a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes, "Of course. Who bloody well knows what lurks inside one of _your_ drinks," she snapped. "Gross."

Dark eyes glinting, his lips stretched into a wide smirk. "Yes. Who knows, indeed."

Then, quick as a cat, Kol leveraged his arm like a baseball bat and swung at Rebekah's beverage, knocking it from her hand. His perfect connection split it in half and sent a wave of alcohol, ice cubes, and glass splashing into her face and down the front of her turquoise sundress to douse her in liquid fury. Her reaction was swift: complacent to crazed to murderous in two seconds flat.

"Why, you wretched little piece of _swine_!" Rebekah exclaimed as she patted off the dripping mess with her rage-trembling hands. "And you wonder why you constantly find yourself with a dagger in your breast!"

For the first time in too long, Caroline almost burst into laughter…that is, until the blonde launched in her direction all clawed fingernails and teeth. Kol, the cheeky instigator, had flashed away and ducked behind a cluster of vacant stools, opting to use them (and Caroline) to dodge his sister's coming assault.

"Run, run, as fast as you can, you'll never catch me I'm the tasty-drink man!" he taunted from astray, chuckling.

Rebekah threw out a flying, grasping fist at this, which Caroline narrowly escaped by blocking it with her elbows and strong-arming her feisty frenemy backwards, swerving her head side-to-side to avoid more hair-yanking blows.

"Just you wait, Kol! Just you wait! Whenever I get my hands on you," she fumed, still charging forward, "I swear I'll—I'll twist your bones inside-out and bend you into a clothes hanger!"

"Ah-ah." He wagged his finger in the air and zipped around the crowded bar. Just out of reach. "Those threats are merely idle until you catch me, darling," he winked.

Elijah pinched his nose and sighed. "Must you two cause a spectacle _everywhere_ we go?"

"Hello!?" Caroline shouted. "A little help here, please?"

With his elbow perched on the counter, the elder Original rested his chin in his hand and made no move to interfere. "This is embarrassing."

"Ouch!" Caroline scolded as Rebekah's nails curled into the skin of her shoulders and drew blood. "If you want to kill him, go for it! But don't scar my damn arms in the process, okay?"

"You'll heal, you big baby."

"So _not_ the point!" she argued.

"Stop whining."

She deflected another one of Rebekah's scraping strikes toward Kol by kneeing her in the ribs. "I didn't _do_ anything to you, remember?"

"You're in—" Rebekah's jaw clenched "—my bloody—" her eye-veins undulated, "way!"

"Hey!" Caroline shrieked as fingers ripped and yanked through curls near her right ear, jerking her head to the side. "It's not my fault your maniac brother decided to use me as a vampire shield!"

She swatted back at the Original's face, smacking her across the forehead with an open palm and marching her backwards—straight into the back of an elder man with a long ponytail grooving to the live band nearby.

"Oh, Bekah…" Kol beckoned with a whistle, recapturing both of the girls' attention. He gyrated obscenely from the middle of the dance floor. "Come and get me, come and get me, come and get me…"

Eyes coal black, mouth contorted with rage, Rebekah hissed. " _Move_."

"No manners," Caroline clucked, still holding her off. "I'm disappointed in you."

The Original's nostrils snarled like a dragon's as she rammed and shoved against her to get free. " _Please_ move your lethargic beauty queen ass now or I'll decapitate you like a Barbie doll," she spat all fire and outrage.

Meeting Rebekah's demanding glare with an insolent look of her own, Caroline curtsied obnoxiously before pushing her toward her snickering brother and flashing to the uncovered patio at the back of the bar. Away. She needed to move as far away as possible.

Desperate to flee the mayhem and to recapture her buzzed serenity, she retreated to the exit that led to the beach, leaving that entire batch of bickering, vacationing Mikaelsons to choke on her sandy beach dust.

…Or so she thought.

"Well, well, well," a familiar accent drawled, "look who it is."

Was it Caroline, or did the entire country just capsize at the sound of that voice? She froze on the staircase as he stepped forward, losing the ability to exhale.

 _Klaus_.

"If it isn't my favorite new monkey in the middle." His low laugh filled the darkness. "Finally come to say hello, I hope?"

Overhead, light from a giant sailor's moon cascaded down and across his lithe form to tint him in golden-red shadow, the summer starlight illuminating the dark blond crown of curls atop his head and cutting his demeanor in crisp streaks of grandeur. Power clung to him like humidity, rippling and ruffling the worldly air he breathed. Its ancient hum glimmered in aura about him as thick and as untouchable as a vanishing mirage, tricking the senses into believing that his lethality could be predicted. Perceived. But it could not be.

Hands slung casually behind his back, deep dimples dented the curves of his upturned lips as he smiled—so strong and severe and self-assured like always. A devil not afraid to remind others that he always found a way to succeed. Delighted intensity sprung from those blue storm cloud eyes the moment their gazes met, attraction dilating pupils—striking between them in hurricane lightning. Stripping away pretense like spliced trees to reveal the raw bareness of similarity. And feeling.

Yes—the soul-erupting allure still existed; the connection rained between them in bowling-ball-sized hail pellets. It fractured all of Caroline's window defenses and carved asteroid craters into the beating organ of her chest without decreasing its rhythm. Harder and louder and faster her heart pounded against that protective fortress of bones, rattling it like a wild tiger in a circus cage. Steadily steeper her pulse climbed in mountain elevation—up and up and up—so high, so aggressive, so shallow of oxygen…making her feel…making her feel…

When she still hadn't answered, the silence between them stretching into unrolling balls of yarn, Klaus scratched his head and peered at her curiously. He cleared his throat, "Having fun in Mexico, love?" he asked.

* * *

It took Caroline ten minutes, two bathtub-foot plunges, and one rag to scrub out all the excess sand stuck in-between her preen and polished toes that night. She lamented leaving those cute pink-wedged sandals behind at the bar, particularly because she'd just purchased them at a stylish shop earlier that morning, but she knew they would've impeded the speed of her departure. Vampire now or not, her past beach-jogging experience had taught her that sodden, sinking ground slowed anyone's natural running pace. And with that ambulance siren of _fear fear fear_ whirring and churning inside of her stomach as he spoke, she couldn't afford any such hindrance. All she knew was that a gunshot had fired across her heart at sight of Klaus Mikaelson again. It had transformed her uncomfortably heeled feet into track spikes that not only ran…but raced.

They raced away.

Yes, Caroline raced—dashed—darted—sprinted—and zoomed away from that confounded hybrid as rapidly as her supernatural legs would propel her in the opposite direction. No _hello_ or _goodbye_. No words but the _oh, no_ written in her wide, unblinking eyes. Leaving him with nothing except a hasty Cinderella exit, a mound of kicked-up sand, and the sting of the sea's high tide.

 _No men, no men, no men. No Klaus, no Klaus, no Klaus._

Somehow, upon meeting him again after all these years and despite all of the romantic turmoil she'd experienced in that time, those two ideas became distinct in her mind. Entirely separate.

Caroline wanted to avoid _men_ because so many of them bricked her in weakness; she wanted to avoid _Klaus_ because although he unraveled her vulnerabilities, he never once manipulated them. If anything, his reverent admiration only helped to reinforce their independent potential to blossom. His encouragement imbibed her with self-faith, not self-doubt.

Since the day of her eighteenth birthday when he'd first healed her with his blood and offered her a choice, Klaus had never made her feel anything but strong. Capable. Competent. In control. He had given her nothing but freedom to be as cheerfully deadly and as self-sufficient as she chose to be. Instead of fastening a lock, he'd handed her the keys.

—And that's precisely what had freaked Caroline the hell out!

It's why she'd tornadoed away from him like some kind of spooked vamp-tasmanian devil. What girl wanted to process a bombshell of that magnitude with the man responsible for it standing (smirking) right in front of her? Talk about an inconvenient time for an epiphany!

As it turned out, the mad-dash back to her luxurious ocean-front suite was futile; Klaus never followed her. There was no chasing. There were no _how dare you turn your back on me_ ' were no charming, unexpected gestures intended to try and knock her off-balance. He let her be.

 _I am a winged immortal_ , Caroline reminded herself, _soaring high and wild and free_.

Half relieved yet half disappointed at Klaus' lack of pursuit, she showered before crawling into bed with a sigh. And despite the conflicting thoughts swirling around in her head, the lingering tequila in her body soon surrendered her tired eyes to her pillow. And to sleep.

* * *

Caroline spent the next week emerged in non-booze-related tourist activities. Keeping herself busy. She nibbled on spicy cuisine with _churros_ for dessert, explored the ancient Mayan ruins of Muyil, read chick lit novels, dipped her toes in the surf, practiced _español_ by befriending natives, hummed along to live music, snorkeled at the renown Sistemas Dos Ojos, ambled along _avenidas_ at sunset, and compelled waiters to fetch her tumblers of blood as she lounged on the _playa_ , its serene seafoam lullaby almost banishing all thoughts of Klaus.

—Almost.

 _Where could he be, where could he be? Did he leave? Oh, what must he think of me!?_ she wondered.

With every day that passed and they didn't again meet, guilt and shame and regret wracked harder against Caroline's chest. What a horribly fickle friend she'd proven herself to be! A chicken. A coward. No different than Stefan. So _not_ the master of hearts she'd molded herself into—a _queen_. Petrified that Klaus would peer straight through her with that wise, savage, aged soul of his and bridge together more of their similarities, she'd fled at the first opportunity. Once again, she'd allowed herself to be weak.

…Yes, _she_ was to blame. She'd polluted her _own_ heart with fear and dishonesty.

 _What a coward, what a FREAKING coward._

Sitting alone on a curb outside _La Salsa Sangrienta_ nightclub just before midnight, Caroline, mulling and miserable, rifled through her purse until her fingers scraped against the item she wanted. She removed it with an exasperated hair flip, inhaling courage once. Sighing away fear twice. She typed three things—a name and two words—and hit send in the same way gamblers roll the dice…with held-breath anxiety.

"Just curious," Klaus responded cheekily as he stooped beside her not a moment later, "should I skedaddle back to my phone or are you sorry enough to make amends in person?"

A blush colored her face. Talk about _lo siento_ being the magic words!

"Sí."

"In something other than drab monosyllables?"

"Sí, amigo mío."

Klaus shook his head at her little 'friend' endearment, eyes gleaming with amusement and pleasantry, "In English please, _mi amor_?"

Had he been nearby this whole time, Caroline wondered? Watching her vacillate from dreary to disgusted to determined? Partaking in all of her vacation whims by observing them quietly from the shadows?

She already knew the answer—the creep.

"Si lo preferirías…" Caroline begrudged with a sigh and stood.

"Still headstrong," he said matter-of-factly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Oh, don't pretend like it bothers you."

Dimpling, Klaus scratched his stubble, "Touché."

"Besides, you can't fault me for wanting to speak the language while I'm here. It's the best way to learn," she nodded with conviction.

"Always the belle of the books," Klaus beamed, offering her his arm. "I've missed that about you, Caroline."

"What's that?"

"Your voracity. I've missed your voracity for life and excitement, for new experiences, for unexpected pleasures or surprises, mysteries, for—for everything frankly."

Her hand pressed tight against his bicep as he flashed them inside, the club's atmosphere immediately billowing them in spice, sweat, and salsa. Drums mirrored the passionate _thump-thump_ of her parched and starved soul-veins as they paraded across the floor arm-in-arm.

"Among other things," he added suggestively.

Hips swayed and sashayed. Hair whipped and flipped every which way. Skirts pinwheeled above ankles, twirling in beautiful disarray as men and women dipped and turned their partners only to spin them back against chests where they were meant to bounce. Ricochet. Because dancing limbs, like captivated hearts, were meant to move in new rhythms…not stay.

"Why do I feel like you being here is no coincidence?" Caroline asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Because that's the law of the land, sweetheart, or haven't you heard?" A sly grin enveloped his mouth as he maneuvered them closer to the music. " _Nothing_ is coincidence. Besides, even kings need a vacation."

"Wow, who are you and what have you done with Klaus Mikaeson? Let's leave the fate-talk to the believers, shall we?" she laughed incredulously.

"Which you are not?"

"Not lately."

Stopping abruptly, almost bumping into a lively group of thirty-somethings, he pierced her with a look and said, "That's rather cynical coming from you."

"Oh, please," Caroline scoffed, throwing a hand on her hip, "you and I both know fate is nothing but a fairy tale."

"Do we, now?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Yes!"

Damn him and that challenging look—how it screamed _lies_. Damn him for reading the story of pain in her eyes. Damn him and that calm, reassuring tracing of her knuckles. Damn him and all of that musing and silent scrutinizing. Damn him, damn him, _damn him_!

"Believing in fate only tosses you on your ass, and I refuse to be tossed any longer," she explained. "I'm over the bruises and the sore butts, okay? Over it."

 _Caroline would not lose the strength of two legs. Caroline would not be knocked down to her knees. Caroline would not be swept up like some helpless damsel to be carried astray. Caroline would not be dumped somewhere far, far away_.

 _Never again, never again, never again_.

Klaus lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to see him. Hear him. " _Life_ is what knocks you on your ass, Caroline. And you either choose to stay down and dead, or you leave. You decide whether or not to keep moving and clawing. _Fate_ , on the other hand, is what you walk to meet; it's what waits for you at the end of the street you can't yet see."

"Ha!" she baulked. "And what, O' Wise Hybrid, am I supposed to meet?"

"Tonight?" Devilish delight splayed across his features as he lifted her hand to his lips, bowed his head to kiss it, and said with a grin, " _Me_."

Without another word, Klaus tugged her by the hand and stormed into the flagrant swell of people, weaving them both around spinning, groping bodies as the percussive tapping of the song vibrated loud enough to almost shuffle-slide feet. Vampire-human senses heightened and splashed a current of adrenaline rafting through hands and arms, legs and feet. Minds wiped clean. They surrendered to tastebuds and licked the air to swallow voluptuous notes of melody like tangible pealings of heaven. The band dipped into the chorus the moment he pulled Caroline into the salsa madness and debauchery and heat.

 _Quiero quedarme en cada instante  
de tu vida, tu vida  
de tu amor_

"I take it this is your half-assed way of asking me to dance?" she grumbled, staggering along behind him.

"Salsa is not about asking—" He whipped them to the center of the stampcrete floor and arrested Caroline with one look. One word. "—but _feeling_. "

Hybrid eyes gleamed from blue to black to yellow as he stared back at her. Hungry. Honest. Haunted.

Lust and ardor rolled off his body; centuries of history tumbled down his sleeves as he directed her left hand to his shoulder and took her right hand with a firm, gentlemanly squeeze. Positioning his free hand on the small of Caroline's back, his fingers teased and scrunched up the fabric of her shirt. His calloused palm felt warm. Rough. Tender as it caressed bare flesh—soft skin.

For this song, one dance, Klaus had branded her as _his_.

"What you need to feel right now is the power and passion of unity," he continued. "What you need to know is that it exists; it is not lacking. You need to understand how it can be contained in equal movement among worthy partners—half you and half me."

He drew her into him as he spoke. Closer…and closer…until they were so close they almost shared the same breath, tread on the same toes, wore the same hips, rested inside the same contented sigh—the latin rhythm almost bursting from their veins like comet-tails that blotted the night sky. It transcended them into musical clefs of varying pitch, moving them lower then higher and higher—

—And that's when they moved. Together, in one-two step, they glided.

 _Quiero quedarme en tus manos_  
 _para ser caricias para construir_  
 _para sentirme tuyo para sentirme en mi_

A shiver traveled down the length of Caroline's spine as Klaus ushered them into alternating hip-swaying steps, those paintbrush fingers of his carving sensuous lines along the planes of her body to cover her in bombastic gold. Sculpting skyscrapers with hummingbird wings into her bones so she remembered to build up and up, to let potential rise. Fly. Sketching against her skin with the charcoal sensations of an unlived life. Tantalizing her with the silky, seductive promise of _more_.

 _Toma mis manos construye el eden  
y con una caricia dibújame en tu piel_

"Don't lie to me, Mikaelson. I know men always prefer to lead," she answered brazenly, "in life _and_ in dance."

"I disagree. It's not leading if a man finds someone who moves with him seamlessly in _one, two, three_. And with me, you do. You always have," he remarked seriously as they drifted across the floor like a perfect poem, their limbs instinctively knowing when to slant rhyme and when to cut into the next stanza. "I realized that not long after we first met."

Caroline snickered skeptically.

"Laugh all you want, sweetheart, but it's true. Like you," he said, spinning her hard to the left, "I denied it for a long time. I passed it off as mere fancy."

"And now?"

"Now I—" Klaus paused. He dropped his chin to blink away his unwavering gaze as she bounded back against his chest, hand poised over his heart. "Now, my eyes are opened and I see. I see you, I see me—I see us and what we're meant to be."

 _Quiero quedarme en tus ojos_  
 _para ver el mundo como tu lo ves_  
 _para sentir tus lágrimas correr_  
 _Quiero quedarme en tus ojos_  
 _para volver a ver_

"Hmm, interesting," Caroline quipped as her fingers traced teasingly along his necklaces. "What _are_ we meant to be exactly?"

He remained silent for a moment, eyes steady and thoughts deep.

"I know you're afraid of losing yourself again, love. Terrified," Klaus exhaled at last, caressing her cheek with his thumb as they moved. "But I'm not going to rob you of who or what you are. That's not what I want—that's not what you deserve."

Collecting words like jewels, he picked all the precious ones and showered them into Caroline's ears like it was nothing. Captivating her again and again with his lyrical sincerity.

 _Y ser en tus dudas lo único cierto_  
 _tu paz y tu tiempo_

"I will never be the kind of man who will sweep you off your Cinderella feet. I won't be a gallant prince for you all the time," he admitted. "I can't be."

"Oh? And why not? Too busy being a king?" she teased.

"No," Klaus replied earnestly, pressing his lips together, "because I know who I am." He shrugged. "I'm a flawed beast, no fantasy."

 _Dirigirme a ti en cada momento_  
 _y expresarte lo que siento_

Something opposite of fear flapped in Caroline's belly at this. Like this dance, like their entangled, complicated history, all of his words and promises smacked raw with emotion. _Real_. They felt real.

In her arms, so did he.

"And whether you choose to believe it right now or not—" Klaus paused. Dipping her backwards, his lips hovered tauntingly above the base of her throat and brushed close enough to bite. Kiss. "We hear the same cadence of music;" he continued, "we are _meant_ to dance to the same beat."

"For how long?" she asked. Lifting her head from its leaned-back position, she cradled herself like a sapphire in his arms and gleamed back at him all bold and beloved and beatific as she curled her hands around his neck. "Do you mean just for tonight…or for eternity?"

One blink. Two blinks. Three.

Three blinks and his arms fastened around her waist like a belt twinkling with the stars of infinity. He swiveled her against his chest, then sucked her passionately into the black hole of his lips. Damning her to the only insanity she could triumph over and exceed, but would never want to leave. The taste of it hardened, not wobbled her knees—because raw plus real plus Klaus equaled one thing: _complete_.

"Don't think, Caroline," he breathed against her mouth as their bodies rocked together to the salsa rhythm, "just move your feet."

 _Quiero beberte gota a gota_  
 _quiero besar tu rica boca_

xxx

 _Quiero quedarme en ti_ ,  
 _para siempre y a tu lado estar_  
 _y poderte mi vida entregar_

xxx

 _Quiero quedarme en ti_ ,  
 _indefinidamente_  
 _quiero quedarme en ti_ ,  
 _desde hoy y por siempre_

* * *

 **The Spanish song lyrics are from a song called "Quiero Quedarme en Ti" by La Suprema Corte. Let me know you think and thank you so much for reading! xx**


	19. Hybrid Heart Shade

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** **: This is set around 5x11 in the moments prior to Klaus and Caroline meeting in the woods and has been hibernating on my computer for a while now. Lyrics are from "I Will Never Let You Know" sung by Sam Palladio and Clare Bowen ( _Nashville_ ) and "All I'm Thinking Of" by Tyrone Wells. Both are beautiful songs. **

**Happy reading! :)**

* * *

The promise of rotting and decrepit Petrova bones—that's the pretense hastening his hybrid trudge from the quaint town streets and into the thick foliage, hunting that heavenly lavender scent. Stalking. It's the excuse he will offer at first scoff. Yes, when the time comes, he will bend at the waist and bow his head to proclaim himself as the elated Grave Dancer of the soon-to-be dead.

 _I'm here to boast and rejoice, love,_ Klaus will drawl devilishly, appearing out of nowhere with his dimples on full display. _To help stamp her evasive doppleganger carcass deep into the dirt with the worms where she belongs—may she_ never _rest in peace._

He will lean casually against a tree, arms crossed, and fix her with a look of mockery. _It's such a pity I forgot my shovel, is it not?_

Disapproval will quiver that cute chin of hers in response. _You came all this way to be a heartless prick? Seriously?_

That eye-rolling disgust of hers will be bombarded by his own shoulder-shrugging fallacy in the exposing sunlight of high noon.

 _Triumph looks good on me_ , he'll say, _particularly when it comes in well-overdue death._

 _Says you,_ she'll argue.

Arms will press into hips and one of her ballerina flats will tap tap tap to match her cutting tone. _Why didn't you just save yourself the trouble of compelling a first class plane ticket here, anyway? I so do_ NOT _need a Klaus-gloating visual, okay?_

 _Why not?_ he'll bait. _Am I too distracting? Is it simply me or my adornment in these clothes of pleased hatred that affront you?_

 _Because!_ She will roll her eyes at these last two questions, but will not address them. _It's cruel and obnoxious._

 _Precisely,_ Klaus will reply as she flashes away with him still trailing from behind. _That's what makes my presence here so indispensable._

 _More like wholly unwelcome,_ she'll mutter under her breath.

 _So you say…_

Yes, today, he will let her think him hard. Callous. Despicable. Or any other horrendous synonym of her choosing that she wishes to bestow. Because later, when he's umbrella'd beneath shade once again, all alone, he will bite deep into the fruit rind of this delicious fib and allow its juices to dribble down his chin to stain his mouth like coffee grinds…with lies.

 _I'll smile and say I'm good_

 _But I will fall apart if I could_

Klaus knows why he's here.

Whose face his eyes seek to sketch in scintillating cement, hoping to preserve the paradise of her long after he's forced to utter goodbye again. Whose hair tiaras an angel in unrivaled light and beauty. Whose witty tongue becomes a bat that whacks toes back whenever he's wrong. Or out of line. Whose _be a better man and_ ' _care_ ' voice tickles across his mind like an invisible hand whenever she's away from him, no longer there. Whose memory zips into him. Never unfastening from his side. Whose love, just now, slips through his finger-slits like a scattering dandelion.

 _But I don't want to let you_

 _I cannot forget you_

 _xx_

 _There's no other love_

 _You're all I'm thinking of_

Caroline is the rope-yank that brings him back to this place and wraps his throbbing ankles in purpose; the brunette, she is nothing but the knotted deception he's fastened around his own legs. A clever little trip-up for the others he may meet along the way.

Validation is the prize Klaus pursues here today. He chases after it (and her). Through the dense woods, his wolf instincts navigate him around stumpy obstacles and poisonous weeds toward the meal that his ears must drink up in order to cope alone again back in New Orleans again: acknowledgement of their connection. He needs it like vampires need blood, like humans need oxygen. He wants to hear it spoken aloud. Let her say it. Admit it.

Just once. Just one breathy whisper of the truth he needs. _Please_. Or else…or else…he will never be able to stay away.

 _Tell me how you feel and I will_

 _Listen 'til I understand you_

 _Let the worry roll right off your chest_

The canopy of leaves and evergreen overhead coupled with Klaus' soundless steps mask his nearing-the-bullseye approach in the same way that his heartless delight at news of Katerina's imminent demise shielded those in Louisiana from uncovering his true motive for returning here. To Mystic Falls. That—her, he keeps tucked away like a secret blade up his heart sleeve.

Hidden, it slices and slashes across miles of wrapped gauze every day to bloody a gaping wound that never heals, that nobody but _him_ knows he still carries. Feels. Rebekah, out of everyone, may be the only person around who suspects his weakness; but since quarterback infatuation floods her own mind as a result of this journey, she remains silent on the subject until they come to a fork and separate.

"Good luck," she nods, steering left to find Matt Donovan. "I have a feeling you'll need it."

"I don't require luck, sister. Only opportunity."

"Spoken like the pompous prat you are, Nik."

Although her steps crunch in the opposite direction and move farther away, her incredulity wafts palpably along the wind.

"Conceit will not deter the possibility of you being cast away on your ass again, you know. Prepare yourself," Rebekah cautions him. "Disappointment stings."

"It's lucky then," he counters contemptibly, "that I'm averse to such an injury."

"Keep telling yourself that, brother. Keep telling yourself that."

He will. He _mus_ t.

Klaus realizes he's nothing short of a big, fat, rotten liar. His words leak _Caroline_ in giant iceberg holes and his sister still bloody _sees_ his sinking despair. Knows it.

He's spent the last year stitching himself into a straight jacket of French Quarter warfare, daggering family conflict, and uninspired bartender flirtation to stampede through his upheaved New Orleans kingdom with fangs that bark threat after threat in tyranny. From veins, he's sucked and siphoned back uncollected debts and then implemented guillotine deaths for city traitors—all to disguise his anguish. All to conceal his pining for one. _The_ one.

Caroline glides and floats and skids through Klaus' thoughts every day, every night. And although outwardly she's nowhere, inside she's there. Everywhere.

 _Inside-out, shot through the center_

 _Feel the scar of where you entered_

 _Took my life and turned it upside-down_

The agony of Caroline's absence since graduation feels all too rugged against Klaus' perpetually goosebumped skin. Like a frayed rope noosed around his neck, it scratches…splinters…and suffocates. Stopping his heart in a way that no white oak stake ever could.

Breath leaves his body in guttural moans and gasps. Evaporates into air. Joins company with the lovely, treasured memories already there. But when the clouds form and prepare to pummel his day with the severest of storms, the precipitation that falls is not rain…but pain. Inescapable, inexorable _pain_.

 _I died inside the day I let you go_

It broods relentlessly in a bottomless cave in the most primal pits inside of him and screeches her name like an injured bat: _C-Caroline. Caro-Caroline. Caaaroline. Car-o-line. CAROLINE._

Klaus knows there is no peace in pining. It ravages the mind in colliding, derailing trains and crashing planes. There are no moments free of wild, hopeful eyes scanning the horizon. The _tick tock_ of the clock only ignites the anticipation anew. It burns corneas as he squints through sunlight to gauge a better view. There are no dreams whose sweet taste will last once he wakes. It turns from wine to cyanide the moment his eyes blink open and he's home, in bed. Still morose and all alone.

Pining hurts, pining pains….and damn, does it pervade. But what else can a suffering man do for the woman he genuinely cares for—wants—except wait?

 _Know that when I'm gone I'm only waiting, waiting_

 _xx_

 _When I said those words to you_

 _I swore that I would see this through_

 _And nothing in the world could change_

 _the promise I have made_

Peering around the trunk of a large oak tree, Klaus spots her stomping through moss and leaves in a huff not ten feet from where he lurks in the shade unseen. He pauses for a moment. Breath halts in his chest. Fingers flex and reach to revere the curves of her body, to trace the silk of her soul, but soon fall rigid at his sides. Contained. He cannot touch her that way. Not yet.

"I'm here for a _confession_ of feelings—it's the first step," he murmurs to himself in reminder, exhaling nervously. "The expression will come later. When she's ready."

He nods. Armors himself in assurance. Belief. Then steps out into the sun, preparing himself to surprise her. "Someday."

Caroline's so close, so close to embracing it all—him—yet still so far away.

She's become the flittering fairy ghost who haunts the sunrises and sunsets of each passing day of his life, her featherwings strumming passion against his heartstrings so it continues to grow in harp melody. No, it never fades away.

On high school graduation day, Klaus tucked his heart into her hand like a fiddle and offered a tune for only her to play. It included no specific meter, verse, or expiration date, only a beautiful, all-encompassing refrain that spelled out their star-written fate: _One day you will come. One day you will reciprocate. One day you will accept your throne; you will become my eternal mate. But until then, I am here. I will wait and wait and wait._

And long after one day arrives and she finally shows up playing _last love_ music at his door, Klaus' heart will not stray. It will not. It cannot. Branded in blood with her name, buried deep within miles of secret hybrid shade, his heart remains Caroline's now, tomorrow, and always…but that's a secret for him to keep and not to speak (at least for today).

 _I'm burned to ashes split down the middle_

 _If anyone asks it hurt just a little_

 _xx_

 _But I will never let you know_

 _I will never let you know_

* * *

 **Thoughts?** **A big thank you to all of you lovely readers! Your encouragement and feedback means the world and has helped me to grow as a writer, so thank you for being so amazing.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	20. Beneath the Corset Bones

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : For Day 2 of AU Week I bring you a Regency/Royalty AU with Queen Victoria and Lord Melbourne parallels. ****Caroline is the newest and youngest Queen of England; Klaus is her Prime Minister/Head of Parliament/private political advisor of sorts whom she relies on for council and advice.**

 **(P.S. Thank you to itv's _Victoria_ for this unprompted Vicbourne obsession of mine. I wasn't prepared. * _cries_ *)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

 ** _"And we are quotation marks, inverted and upside down…trapped by lives we did not choose."_** — _Ignite Me_ , Tahereh Mafi

* * *

The stringent 1838 world they inhabited fashioned everything like a corset: sophisticated yet taut, smooth but confined. Yanked proper until it looked flawless on the outside but felt much too cramped within, society arranged and compiled every aspect of their lives neatly into sets of threes: Child, adult, elder. Aristocrat, politician, commoner. City, village, country. Castle, cottage, hovel. Church, state, ethics. Affluent, stable, impoverished. Bachelor, spinster, widow. Single, engaged, married. Refused, arranged, selected. Decorum, respect, civility. Love, hate, indifference. Honor, duty, sacrifice…And so on and on so forth.

Though it organized life in a structured, straightforward way, it also left few airy loopholes for those who wished to live free from disgrace. There was no comely manner of moving in or bending out of these categorical cages. Too much fear abounded. The threat of ruination was too great. String-tugging stays secured and cinched and bound them all like shrinking waists, the scandal and stigma of impropriety keeping most people knotted into place. Pinned down. Their lungs parched and gasping with want they'd never taste.

How could one manage to smile in civilization's garment when it left such little room to breathe? How could one dare to care about anyone without restraint? Particularly when human sensibility remained constricted behind tulle skirts, satin finery, patched petticoats, or pauper trousers not by choice but by necessity? Duty? Responsibility? How could one muster enough enthusiasm to celebrate the coronation ball next month when tears threatened to spit from the eyes of the country's newest (and youngest) reigning queen?

Youthful and unseasoned, sagacious, and kindhearted, Princess Caroline Elizabeth Adelaide Forbes of Kent and Strathearn was no older than eighteen when the velvet carpet of queendom trundled open before her slippered feet. It was at that age the trumpets beckoned for her to come. Rise. With no co-regency in effect, she ascended to the golden throne of the United Kingdom of Great Britain directly after her mother's death. And she did so with resolution, poise, and reserved sorrow. No public tears.

The kingdom was hers to govern. All hers.

And although she was barely of age, tenacity and independent will flooded her with the courage to succeed. Alone. She believed _she_ could be the strong and compassionate leader her people wanted. Needed. She _would_ be. She had vision. Ideas. Many contentious plans for improvement.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as Queen Caroline assumed office, politicians, legislators, acquaintances, and distant relatives alike broached only one subject without cease: marriage.

 _The Queen needs a husband_ , they all argued, _the Queen needs a man by her side._

The country's mounting debt and social unrest became secondary in comparison to this issue. An oversight which the young monarch thought erroneous, negligent, and supercilious. Not to mention preposterous!

It was not that she was averse to marrying someday should she find a suitable match, but where was the rush? She was young. She had time and plenty of it. As for affection, it already abounded in her life in a manner she could control. Did she not have pets? Friends? Companions? What need had she for a stiff, ironed-out husband who heralded from Germany or France, then? There were larger concerns to correct at present besides that of her marital status.

Moreover, it angered Queen Caroline that all of these people presumed they had the right to tweet darling suggestions in her ear like little birdies. They wanted her to marry perhaps, but to marry someone of _their_ choosing. Not hers.

It reminded her how cramped and unvarying her decisions felt, how nothing—not the polished sapphire crown that pinched her ears, the firm cushions that pressed into the lumbars of her spine; not the stalwart statesman, ladies in waiting, servants, or royal relatives; not the laws or the mores or the customs; not the newspapers or the public's scrutiny; not the private grief she hid—nothing in this noble existence permitted her any space. Not one single inch.

Queen Caroline was a laced corset unable to wheeze. And her heart, enclosed, could not explore. Never could it roam free. No, forever was she bound by obligation and dignity.

Contentment seemed unlikely in this mossy, rolling land with its limitations stifling the lowest of peasantry all the way up to the privileged aristocracy. And on some days, it teetered nearer and nearer toward fancy. Fantasy. The rigidness of English society stuffed in everyone's misery with zippers, Expectation doing its best to smother the internal squeals that could fracture convention in _fight, fight, fight_.

The question was: when would someone find the courage to try again? To either fail or succeed?

With the country and its loyal subjects devoid of faith for a more prosperous future, they scanned the cloudy skies for a shred of belief they could pocket and follow like cookie-crumb sunshine attached to a string. To where could they turn? A manufacturing town? A farming village? To whence could they flee? To what bill or amendment could they cling? To whom could they look, their desperate souls still grasping for hope?

All of these wretched questions they asked, but not one of them looked for the answer in the right place. Not one of them considered the uncultivated passion and potential brewing in the breast of England's newest queen.

* * *

Queen Caroline and Lord Chancellor Niklaus Mikaelson, private political advisor to His Majesty the Queen, spent the morning in one of the larger parlors in Buckingham Palace discussing the upcoming Cabinet meeting. Lots of paper scribblings with bullet points that detailed the country's financial figures and areas of discord populated the room. Ink and pens littered mahogany tables everywhere while pieces of parchment laid crumpled in balls on the floor. Heavy earbobs were stuffed behind sofa cushions and half-nibbled cucumber sandwiches floated in empty teacups waiting to be eaten.

Together, the two comrades donned thinking caps and drained hours of sunlight ironing out the precisest of details. Crouched over writing desks or lounged back against ottomans, they drew diagrams in the air with fingers. Argued about policy, propriety, practicality. Quizzed each other on argumentative tactics for and against. Sipped copious amounts tea to stay awake. Alert. All of it aimed not to strengthen the young woman's Better Housing Initiative, but to calm her fidgety nerves. To make her more sanguine.

By the time the clock struck noon, the Queen's head ached. She was exhausted. Worse, her heart was weary.

"Perhaps _you_ should grapple with the Cabinet members instead?" she said, scraping a yawn from her mouth. "Go in my place?"

Lips pursed, the Lord Chancellor shook his head. "It is not for me to attend today, Ma'am, but for you."

"I don't understand why!" Queen Caroline grumbled. She lifted bleary eyes from the table and stretched her arms over her head. " _You're_ the infamous political lion, Lord K, not me."

It was the truth.

Lord Chancellor Niklaus Mikaelson, or Lord Klaus as he preferred to be addressed, clawed and chipped and chomped his way through the hierarchy to assume the highest ministerial office in the country not inherited by birth: Master of Parliament.

Although no older than thirty-two, he believed in nothing but the words written in the constitution. He lived by them. Committed himself and his life to upholding its ordinances and principles with honor, integrity, and severity at all costs. (The latter becoming the catalyst that peppered his reputation in contrary opinion). Some called his methods cruel or callous; others likened his maneuvers more to calculation. All were intimidated by his tireless persistence to prevail. He refused to lose; rumbling and snarling until opposition surrendered, stamping initiatives into law that upheaved controversy across the kingdom.

Regardless of personal opinion, it was his diplomacy in conjunction with his renown rhetoric and spellbinding oratories that had kept in power, largely unchallenged, for the last eight years now. He was an animal; he was a genius. He was a law-whipping legend tittered about all throughout Europe and he was devoted to his Queen. Like a sword, he was on her side. Always.

"Perhaps you are no lioness yet, Ma'am, but you will be," Lord Klaus assured her.

"That's easy for you to say."

"Is that not why you summon me here so frequently?" Queen Caroline lifted round eyes to his face. "To learn the secret of the roar?" he queried.

Intensity flickered at him from blonde eyelashes as she shouldered past him, a small smile dancing across her lips, "I suppose so…"

"Then in time, you'll learn."

"Again, says you," she said. "You're not the one who has to convince a bunch of bumbling Cabinet poppycocks like Lord Saltzman that a female monarch is capable of innovation. Or of repairing this crumbling empire without a man."

She collapsed back against a floral settee with crossed arms and a frown, her lilac gown billowing around her in cupcake folds. Doubt subduing her natural buoyancy.

"You will conquer them."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because you are divine," Lord Klaus replied bluntly; tenderly.

Their gazes—steady and piercing—locked from across the room at his breathy delivery, flushing both of their cheeks. The Queen parted her lips to respond but words tumbled back down her esophagus, plummeting quick, like a swoon, past her knees.

"You will enchant them all. It will not be difficult, I promise you."

Her breath hitched. "It won't?"

"No."

"Whatever you do, Your Majesty, stay regal. Let dignity infiltrate your speech, stature, and demeanor and you will be fine," instructed Lord Klaus.

"Anything else?"

"Do not let them see you flinch," he said. "Keep your head up and your thoughts trained. Focused."

"How about I wear my crown and smite them all with my high-born chin and lifted nose (powdered to hide all the freckles)?" she quipped. "I'd much prefer to turn them into Parliament salt."

"Speak firmly and clearly, but with a cool, rational tongue—only a touch of heart," he continued, not heeding her commentary. "It is imperative that you appear confident before them this afternoon."

"When is it not?" Queen Caroline groaned.

"Do not let them monopolize the discourse. This is your initiative and they are gathered to hear _you_ , not the other way around. Be audacious. Take charge. Make them hear you."

Adorned in a royal blue frock coat with a matching double-breasted vest and a cream-colored cravat, Lord Klaus paced across the plush carpet in assured, graceful strides; hands clasped behind his back.

With a hand plopped under her chin, she studied him closely. Curiously. Eyes tracing along his strong stubbled jawline and down his lithe form like a soft broom. Sweeping away the lines that creased his forehead in an effort to reconcile the formality of his speech with the expressiveness of his face.

"Try not to betray any glimmer of intimidation or inferiority, or they will use it against you," he cautioned.

"Naturally."

"And make sure you smile," he added.

The Queen inhaled sharply at this, her gaze narrowing as a scathing comment slinked its way to the tip of her tongue, seconds away from diving off. "Pardon me?"

"I said _smile_ ," Lord Klaus repeated.

"No—you mean simper. You want me to simper. Lovely," she added with a harsh laugh.

"It's more that I want you to beam."

Accusation sprang forward from her in joust. "And that's somehow better?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"I'm sure you do," she mumbled.

"What is it, Ma'am?" Concern creeped into his voice. "Is something troubling you?"

Queen Caroline plucked at a loose stitch on an embroidered cushion with her index finger and sighed, looking irritated; feeling forlorn.

She missed her mother.

Consumption had stolen her away the day after the she'd come of age at eighteen and it was too soon. Much too soon. She still needed guidance, ached for unconditional affection. Longed for forehead kisses that tucked her under a warm duvet for the night.

On days like this, in moments of confusion or distress, she longed to curl her head in her mother's sleek, chiffon lap again and fall asleep to velvet fingers stroking through her hair—how seamlessly they always kneaded worries free from her young mind, smoothing nightmares away like trifling wrinkles; how they always padded her bleeding heart full of comfort all too precious, but all too often overlooked. Loss never failed to spiderweb across the Queen in gaping scars still unhealed when reverie preoccupied her…as she remembered with love, as she remembered with sadness. It hurt. The emotion sliced far and deep inside of her in moments like this—shallowing breath, ensnaring thoughts in the kind of tragic longing never to be remedied. Never to be defeated.

She would miss her beloved Mama just as much today as she would tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that…forever. For although nearly ten months had passed now since her her death, the pain still felt rough against the young monarch's chest. Fresh. It would not abate.

Her mother's steely yet sensitive presence still permeated the ornate palace walls in shadow and silhouette where she once lived. Her last words still ghosted across her daughter's memory every day. Like tickles from a dove feather, they hushed sleepless fears; strengthened courage:

" _There is greatness in you, my daughter;_ " Queen Elizabeth had begun in soliloquy that somber October morning, her last, _"and so long as you stay true to yourself, you will do extraordinary things. You will invoke hope and change. You will make this whole country burgeon with the kind of pride I carry for you every day I live on this earth. You will be brilliant."_

" _The time has come to let others revere your radiance now, my child—_ " she'd continued, " _be not afraid to shine. You may be borne of noble blood, but remember that we are all made of the same flesh and that we all have goodness buried somewhere deep inside our chests._ "

" _Be prudent and strong. Be tolerant. Be kind and forgiving. But most of all_ ," she'd murmured, her voice growing weaker; fading, " _know that I love you and I leave with you the courage to follow your own heart. Find a way to be happy, my daughter. Be happy._ "

Queen Caroline cherished these final words, tucking them into heart pockets and carrying them with her always. Her mother's final goodbye had shielded her in warm armor, the kind she needed in order to triumph over the brutal aristocratic world in which she not only lived…but reigned.

"Only harlots simper to broker money for services, Lord K. _Harlots_ ," she answered at last, her chin elevated.

"I think you misunderstood my meaning, Ma'am…"

"No, I think I understood you _perfectly_ , sir," she hissed. "Perhaps I'll flutter my eyelashes? Twirl hair around my index finger? Or maybe I'll just crinkle my little nose for extra effect, hm?"

"Shall I show you how I'll do it—" she advanced, the purr of her tone wafting across the air to prickle his ears with seductive sharpness, "how effortlessly I will unfasten their locked minds like my fingers could unknot a cravat?"

Uncomfortable, Lord Klaus cleared his throat.

"That's quite unnecessary," he stated. "On all accounts."

"I don't see why…"

Head tilted like a viper, mouth curling with sin, challenge, her tongue glided over her bottom lip as she pressed her bosom into the armrest in an effort to highlight her corset cleavage. The Lord Chancellor gaped for a moment, wide-eyed, then glanced out the window at the shrubbery. Tugging hard on his shirtsleeves.

"As nothing but a young, inexperienced _female_ , I am bereft of intelligence, am I not?" Queen Caroline parried. "Is that not what you think? Is that not what you _ALL_ think!?"

His nostrils flared. Anger drained into his complexion.

"Of course not. I—"

"But docile charms…" the Queen continued, a scoff rolling across the carpet of her tongue, "oh, yes, those are _bound_ to sway government officials my way, surely! How brilliant!"

"Pardon me, but—"

"Flirtation? Seduction? Compliance? Ha!"

The Lord Chancellor's jaw clenched as she cut him off for a second time. He bit down hard on his tongue. Waiting until she finished.

"How _dare_ you propose that I degrade myself in such a manner! Are you out of your senses?" she exclaimed haughtily. "I can read tomorrow's newspaper headline already: _Coquettish Queen Curtails Legislation._ Sounds great, doesn't it? Exactly the impression I do _not_ wish to make, sir."

A shadow paced over his face as his pacing halted, his voice low and ashen. Like an extinguished flame.

"Do you truly think so low of me, my Queen?" he asked. "That I would stoop so low?That I believe your brains to be less beguiling, more unmerited than your beauty? Do you?"

Queen Caroline perceived the brokenness in his tone, the hurt that snuck out from behind his teeth like a drawbridge. But with hostility boiling her veins like a cauldron, she refused to wobble to it. Or to him.

"I don't know," she clipped.

"You don't know." A harsh, gravelly laugh escaped him as he raked a hand over his face and turned away. "Yes, well, what you do not know and all that you _never_ perceive is obvious, indeed, Ma'am."

"And what is that supposed to mean, sir!?" she countered aggressively.

"That I—" Lord K hesitated. "You cannot begin to comprehend how much I—to think I'd ever ask you to—that I don't wish to strangle any man who dares—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she rolled her eyes. "Just say it."

Anguish snaked through the fingers that scraped through his scalp long and hard and fast, curling them into claws. It slurred his speech in hesitancy and restraint as the seconds of strained silence piled between them like sediment.

"I am a fool," he began again. "The kind of fool that—no. No I—"

"Speak!"

Her heart quickened into a horse gallop the moment he pivoted back around to face her; for although his feet remain rooted to the carpet like a tree and he took no step forward or backward, his entire body shuddered as if he were a branch praying for lightning that would strike him free. Adrenalized hail pattered from behind those heady steel blue eyes of his. Pouring out in muted monologue. His lips twisting and contorting to try on all kinds of fine-sized words, but ultimately finding none that felt satisfactory.

"I cannot," he answered at last. He dropped his head and sighed. "I am not at liberty to explain."

"I deserve a better answer than that, Lord K," Queen Caroline scolded. "In fact, I demand one."

Swept up in some internal maelstrom, Lord Klaus hardly heard her.

Storming across the room with hands balled into fists and his jugular vein swollen and undulating in his neck, the floor swallowed his polished black boots to crater him in personal abyss; the bookshelved walls enclosing—smashing him into dutiful little slits. He looked ready to obliterate the grand piano into shards at his feet with one harsh blow. To detonate himself a new world, one much more remiss.

Dangerous silence stretched between them as he clawed the fabric of his coat. Scraping hard and rough for something…self-control.

"I am sorry if I offended you before, Ma'am," he began after two deep breaths and a low growl. "I—I only meant to suggest that you do your best to remain unaffected before the members of the Cabinet later. That you not permit them to see you distraught."

"The loveliness of a small— _your_ smile," the Lord Chancellor clarified, grinding his teeth together to temper the fervor that threatened to lurch out and scald her, "would shield the bastards from perceiving the burden of duty and responsibility you must bear every day. Alone."

Flustered and ashamed, Queen Caroline blushed, puffing out nothing but air.

"Oh."

Posture rigid, he faced away from her and stared into the fireplace, stewing in silence. Reflecting.

"I didn't mean to overreact. I just—"

"You are under a great deal of pressure, Your Majesty," he interrupted curtly. "I need no explanations."

"No…I'm sorry." A deep sigh escaped her. She banged a palm against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. "It is not excusable for me to snap at someone whose council is crucial to me—whose presence I seek out daily. I depend on it. I depend on _you,_ " she explained.

"You have become invaluable to me these last months, Lord K. Where would I be without you? Who would I be?"

"Better off, I reckon."

"Please don't say that," she rasped.

Remorse, tinged with something else, tremored in Queen Caroline's voice as she shuffled and leaned forward in her seat, her eyes reaching out to him like a pleading hand. Desperate to grab him by the coattails and wrap her arms about his waist. To make him understand.

"You are an indispensable part of my life now and I…I need you."

Lord Klaus dropped his chin to the floor and made a noise somewhere between a sigh, a hiccup, and a hum as she spoke. He compressed his lips together, reining in some emotion she couldn't see.

"Please forgive me, Lord K. I'm so sorry! I know I'm a royal migraine sometimes, but…" she paused, half-panting with worry and anxiety; her chest heaving from some strange shiver that creeped the ' _what if he never turns back around again'_ air out of her lungs and pounded an erratic pulse in her ears, "but I promise Crabby Caroline is gone for good now. Just—just please don't forsake me? That would devastate me immeasurably," she said.

He addressed her tenderly as he placed a hand over his breast. Almost as if he were swearing an oath.

"Don't worry, Ma'am," he breathed, "I'm not going anywhere."

"You mean you're not cross?" she asked with surprise.

"With you, my spirited Queen?"

Dimples dented his cheeks as he strode before the floral settee on which she rested and extended his right arm with gallantry, her violet-gloved hand soon finding solace in his warm grip and steady eyes. Bowing his head, his lips pressed a token of fidelity and devotion against her silky knuckles in answer.

"Never," he said.

* * *

 **I think I'm going to develop this into a two-to-three shot? I want to flush out more of the forbidden love aspects and to have an excuse to write a coronation ball...because Klaroline + Dancing = YES!**

 **Thoughts? Thanks for reading! xx**


	21. The Man Haunting Her Shoulders

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** **: This is for Day 3 Because Magic. I don't know how to preface this other than to say magical hijinks ensued and now Klaus is fairy-sized and hanging around Caroline's head in angel/devil fashion (on her shoulders). And she's anxious to get rid of him. But he won't leave.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Caroline swatted fiercely (grumpily) at the two talking mosquitoes currently loitering above her right and left shoulders _buzz-buzz_ ing in figure-eights, to no avail. They bobbed and ducked and somersaulted around her hand-whopping assaults like a couple of gymnastic buzzards. Splits and flips for days—the elusive bastards!

"Listen Tinksquitoes," she grumbled, collapsing back against her dorm room door. Slamming it shut with a huff. "I don't know what fairy tale book from Disney _hell_ you two buzzed out of recently, but you need to locate an open page and buzz back in…like now."

Adorned in an off-white Henley and a brown leather jacket, a blond man, who was no larger than an action figure, landed on her right shoulder with expert one-footed flair. A translucent orb bathed him in light the color of cumulus clouds and indigo sky. And poking out through two large slits in his jacket flapped two sunset-tinted harpwings that were symmetrical in size and shape.

"Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but we're neither book-borne nor page-squashable. Think again," he said.

"Oh, for the love of—" Caroline wrung her hands in the air, "you _have_ to be imaginary! This is ridiculous!"

"Ridiculously _enchanting_ perhaps," drawled the one on the left.

"They're not real! Not real, not real, not real! Imaginary, they're just imaginary pests," she professed more to herself than anyone, "they _have_ to be."

They snickered.

"Hardly, love."

Closing her eyes, she banged the back of her skull against the door again and again. Taking deep, measured breaths. Willing her brain to control-freak herself out of this mess.

"If you aren't figments of my overactive (obviously _infected_ ) imagination, then what the hell are you?"

Irritation and accusation mounted as hands flew to her hips.

"I'm clearly too annoyed to study right now," she declared, "so I'm all ears, boys… enlighten me." Patience evaporated with the narrowing of her eyes. "I dare you!"

"Why don't _you_ tell us, sweetheart?" they purred.

Riddles and rhetoric. Rhetoric and riddles. That's all this was, that's all it had been—torture never-ending.

"You two suck," she pouted. "Suck, suck, _suck_!"

"Guess, guess, guess," they encouraged in that trademark lilt. Still present. Still prying and persistent. Still pains in the not-freaking-possible ass! "Guess quick before the days all tick away…"

Caroline groaned.

Dropping her books to the floor, she threw her hands over her eyes and massaged one annoying, festering question free from her mind: WHY?

Was she hexed? Under a spell? Hallucinating? Trapped in some kind of dream purgatory? Dead? In fairy tale hell? _What_.

Why, why, why had Naughty Nuisance Nik and Charming Chump Klaus spent the last week wreathing around her head like twin Caroline-nectar'd mosquitoes? They, Klaus Mikaelson x2 (as if one of him in this world wasn't enough of a pain already— _seriously_ ), swarmed about her in close circumference all hours of the damn day jabbering and drawling with commentary in that grating Klaus-only way. As they descended from the air to perch on either one of her shoulders, they prattled teasing, challenging nuggets of dialogue into her ear. Disrupting not only her concentration, but her anti-Original mind.

Magnetism and mischievousness rippled off their flapping little wings as they ensnared her attention; monopolized her focus. Never leaving her sight. Or side. Or freaking _life_.

 _It was a goddamn nightmare_!

The worst part? The fairy-sized little shits had tapped into some kind of Caroline AM frequency, meaning they were invisible to everyone except her. _Of course_. As if undergraduate studies weren't demanding enough as it was already!

Bonnie and Elena had attributed Caroline's recent air-swatting-and-swearing episodes to demanding junior year classes and finals week stress. But only because she'd offered up no other explanation. She couldn't. What on earth could she possibly say?

" _No worries, guys. I'm just being stalked by two shrunken Klaus Looney Tunes."_

 _"I know you can't see them. Only I can, apparently."_

 _"WHY ON EARTH WOULD I HAVE IMAGINARY KLAUS FRIENDS?"_

 _"This is a serious problem!"_

 _"Are you…laughing? You are—you're laughing!"_

 _"I can't believe you actually think that—"_

 _"IT'S NOT FUNNY."_

 _"What they want? Oh, who the hell knows…(probably to flirt me to death.)"_

 _"He probably thinks double the Klaus plus double the charm equals double the chances of my hostility cracking."_

 _"Like cloning himself would work. As if!"_

 _"Pfft, intrigued? Flattered? Definitely NOT."_

 _"No—of course I want them to leave! I just don't know how to—"_

 _"Hey, it's not my fault they refuse to fly back into their Peter Pan horizon, okay?"_

 _"I've tried batting, backhanding, swatting, swiping, swearing…any other ideas? I'm open for suggestions."_

 _"I've_ tried _to send them away, dammit."_

 _"They refuse to leaveeee!"_

 _"Who the hell do you think I am, the Klaus Whisperer?"_

Best friends or not, they'd think she'd lost her mind! (And to be perfectly honest, Caroline wasn't entirely sure she hadn't.) This entire situation was crazy and impractical—totally unbelievable, nothing but a fairy tale delusion or a witchy trick of the…oh God, what if Klaus had somehow inserted himself like a parasite into her own mind? What if he—they—were here to drain her of something? What if this insanity was all for _real_?

"Are you…rebellious fairies?" she asked, gulping back that strangling lump of absurdity. And impossibility.

"No."

"Hybrid bees?"

"No."

"Wasps?"

"No."

"Transfigured butterflies?"

"No."

"Fallen Angel Birds?"

"Your answers continue to dazzle," said Naughty Nuisance Nik, "but nope."

Hovering over her left shoulder, untroubled, he slid his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and used the air like a giant couch. Fluttering his black-diamond-boned wings at her flirtatiously, their popcorn-popping sound erratic. Turbulent.

"Flying leech demons here to drain me of vampire blood, then?"

Two twitching lips followed by the same droll response: "Afraid not," they said in unison.

She could feel amusement ruffling the edges of their wings. She could taste poise, so patient and undisturbed, with every flap of invisible wind the two of them tickled against her skin and wafted into her nostrils. Suspense corkscrewed in the pit of her stomach. Knowledge fizzed higher and higher in champagne bubbles, but never spilled over onto her tongue. Or out. It stalled.

And it was the preserved mystery, those particular ingredients of _what_ and _why_ that still remained unspecified about their presence here, that drove her absolutely…freaking… _insane_!

"We'd never dare lovebite you without proper invitation, of course," said Charming Chump Klaus. "That wouldn't be gentlemanly, would it?"

"Oh, how kind," Caroline replied acidly, stomping toward her side of the room and throwing her tote into the small gap between the desk and wall. "I must be the luckiest gal in the entire _world_ to avoid unwanted lovebites from a duo of talking mosquitoes!"

He bowed his head all honor and dignity.

"Tell me," she pressed, "have I been unfortunate enough to win some kind of twisted Cupid lottery I didn't know about or something?"

Orbed in purple-green flame that smelled seductively of lavender, Naughty Nuisance Nik chuckled from the left. He raked over her intensely as an endearment uncoiled against his teeth with a snake's lilt to strike her, "You'd like that wouldn't you, _princess_?" he crooned in a hiss.

"Excuse me!?"

"There's no need to be offended by the truth now, sweetheart."

Oh, no he didn't! Scowling, Caroline backhanded violently at the air near his body, which he skillfully avoided with a few easy, aerodynamic flips.

"I'm not. I'm never offended by _real_ things," she argued.

"You are, I'm afraid," Charming Chump Klaus intervened.

She scoffed. Rolled her eyes.

"What the hell do you know?"

"To be frank?" grinned Naughty Nuisance Nik. "Everything, princess—" he shot her a wink, "we know _everything_."

Rubbing a finger across his lips in thought, Charming Chump Klaus chanced a look at his simpering companion. The latter offered him a cocky nod of encouragement (an invitation to proceed) which he accepted by fluttering before Caroline's right eye and clearing his throat to speak.

"There is still a small, innocent place deep inside of you that hopes mythical beings do exist," he began. "You like the idea of Tinksquitoes, as you so poetically termed us, guiding (or in this case, _biting_ ) you with little puttering heart-arrows that point you toward the kind of man and relationship that will fulfill you."

"You secretly _crave_ to be polluted, you see," he explained, his voice low and dripping with honey assurance. "To be infected with what you truly deserve."

"Oh?" Caroline challenged, biting back a sneer. "And what exactly _do_ I desire, Mr. Oracle?"

Charm oozed from him in cologne, drawing her in. Arresting her senses. Silence sprinkled over her like fairy dust and compelled her to listen.

"You dream of attaining that unpredictable yet unconditional package of reciprocation, don't you, love? You crawl toward it on hands and knees," he said, "bowed in prayer as you mutter _be mine someday, please—_ your fingers reaching for it. Aching for it. Yearning to claim it as your own."

Charming Chump Klaus' harpwings strummed a classical serenade into her ear as he moved closer and peered up. Into her eyes. His gaze burned tender, steady, in indigo cloud light; his beating wing-tune soothing the air around him in lullaby.

"You know you desire all of those mismatched colors and uneven pieces of tape wrapping you up in crumpled, flexible lovefolds, Caroline. You want the package that's all askew with bows and strings, not because it's perfect," he licked his lips, "but because it's beautifully raw and natural. _Whole_."

Breath deflated in her lungs at his words, shriveling all of those secret heart cells no longer safe. No longer private. Now only starving, starving, starving. As lips parted just a crack, her heart ignited. Marveling, marveling, marveling.

"You sense the damage. You've seen it, haven't you?" he baited, an index finger tapping on his chin. "Felt it? Traced the history of someone else's scarred life with your own curious, trembling fingertips?"

"The imperfect perfection whistles at you from the darkness." Voice husky, Charming Chump Klaus cocked his head to the side and paved his tongue across his bottom lip all slow and sly and sumptuous; considering her with deep, flickering ocean eyes. "It calls for you to embrace all of its dangerous gapes and divots; to let them all in as only you can. Should."

"You know you should," he drawled. "You know you should because somewhere…somewhere deep-down inside of your bones, you _know_ you deserve a relationship that's constructed from a box of honesty. Truth. The realest of realities."

"I—" she faltered, falling quiet.

"Yes," he nodded, confidence uplifting his lips, "you want the whole damn dented package, Caroline. Everything that _real_ love offers."

Evening sunlight streamed in through the paned window as she stood before it, motionless. Vibrancy refracted and illuminated the planes of his face in sunset silhouette, sculpting him into a work of talking art: poetry immortalized in kinetic gobs of sky paint. While she baulked, gaped, and hesitated, Charming Chump Klaus gravitated nearer. His tone still soft; entrancing.

"You do…" he purred, "don't you?"

Caroline licked her lips once, then twice. Retaliatory words tumbleweeding along the desert of her tongue and rolling, rolling, rolling. They rolled away. _Poof!_ Gone.

Suddenly feeling more than a little unnerved and invaded, she retreated backward; her butt crashing against the edge of the windowsill as she pointed a stern finger at the two buzzing Klauses. Alarm and suspicion paling her face, croaking her voice.

"What…what are you? Tell me, tell me _right now_!" she demanded.

He cocked one eyebrow. A smile followed. It spread slowly from mouth to dimples to two eyes twinkling with insight.

"Magical Mobile Manifestations, my beloved," Charming Chump Klaus offered with a gallant bow.

"M3 if you prefer," Naughty Nuisance Nik added. He buzzed before her nose, shooting her a wicked grin, "And at your delivery service from dusk 'til dawn and into the midnight beyond."

"I'm sorry," her laugh came out screechy, like scratching fingernails, "but do I sound like I'm in the _mood_ to decipher word equations right now?" she asked, her voice raising. "DO I?"

The two Klauses shared a long look, took two deep sighs, flew before her together and said, "We're messengers, sweetheart."

Caroline blanched. Froze. Body and mind shutting down, down, down.

After a week of toiling and wondering, this was so _not_ the answer she had expected. Or imagined. Then again, leave it to Klaus to commission himself magical carrier pigeon to harass her. The ass!

"Doesn't that mean you're required to—oh, I don't know—" she simpered ferociously; clenching her fists, grinding her teeth, "deliver a _message_?"

"Actually, yes."

"Then get on with it already!" she exclaimed.

As she stomped her foot in wait, some repressed instinct barked that this was no coincidence—that the presence of these mini-Mikaelson clones somehow correlated to that event from last week. Had she known the hybrid was going to dispatch an army of Klaus insects after her because of it, however, she never would have done it in the first place. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

If curiosity could kill the cat, then it could _definitely_ curse Caroline…

* * *

 _Rumors of an impending Reign of Mikaelson Demise licked through the small college town of Whitmore in October flames. They ignited Elena and Bonnie in doubt, Stefan in gravity, Alaric in complacency, and Damon and Enzo (the latter knowing of the family in name and reputation only) in apathy. None of them believed the stories._

 _"It's gossip," they said, "nothing more than gossip."_

 _But as Caroline corralled bars and concerts and study events, immersing herself fully in the university experience, her ears perked with every mention of the Originals. She couldn't help it. Curiosity always prevailed and she wanted to hear. Know. She wanted to know it all._

 _Tales of Aurora the VendettaBringer, a corpse bride with clawed fingernails made of red steel, traveled more loosely from lips as the months passed from fall and into spring. And like the excellent student she was, Caroline paid attention. She made mental notes, trolling for whisperings and murmurings of news; she researched incidents in Louisiana that the media deemed 'strange' or 'peculiar'; she kept a weary eye out for unexpected visitors. Always looking. Cataloguing. Listening for something sinister…like truth._

 _For weeks now, as the spring semester winded down, supernatural birdies who passed through campus for an undergraduate "refreshment" chirped to Caroline—some with fear, others with fascination—about a Letter of Doom that branded the sky above the French Quarter. Blood red, it apparently stained the Louisiana clouds day and night in ominous warning. The giant "M" slumbered, gathering strength until it grew teeth powerful enough to devour its one and only prey from the inside-out: Mikaelsons._

 _According to Caroline's accumulating sources, Aurora vowed to rue over the Originals' immortal lives like a plague. Raining disease and corruption. Robbing trust. Upending sibling loyalty. Sacrificing relationships, guillotining affection. She was the Apocalyptic Bitch in a Red Dress, and she either would triumph…or would never rest._

 _Truly gripping, prophetic stuff._

 _The problem with the information she'd acquired, however, was that none of Caroline's little chirping informants knew for sure whether Aurora was just a phantom hyperbole or if she was an actual flesh-and-blood monster intent on eviscerating the Mikaelsons. 'They are dead' vs. 'they are alive' contradictions confronted her every day. It was all speculation. And danger, danger, danger._

 _One night, two weeks before the end of the semester, Caroline snapped. She couldn't bear the through-the-grapevine suspense any longer—she needed something concrete. A voice._

 _Using library research as a pretense, therefore, she fled the dorm lounge where her friends were discussing some new threat and scurried to her favorite on-campus retreat: a wooden bench canopied beneath shrubbery and a large maple tree. She plopped down. Pulled out her cell phone from her purse. Keyed in a block code to keep herself unknown. Dialed the familiar number…and waited._

 _RING, RING._

 _Caroline just needed to hear his voice. To (anonymously) make sure he wasn't dead or desiccating behind a brick wall somewhere. You know, in case she or one of her friends needed another hybrid blood cure in the future—that's all._

 _RING, RING, RING._

 _This was just a necessary precaution. Safe-guarding. It was self-preservation and OCD survival tactics 101._

 _RING._

 _Mikaelsons had fended for themselves in strife and in war for over a millennia now, and hell would hurricane from him before he allowed some red-nailed trollop to scratch his family off the face of the earth. It couldn't happen. Wouldn't. Never, never, never._

 _RING._

 _The deafening blare of another unanswered ring. How its hollowed-out sound echoed in her ear like a broken seashell, whining, the ocean waves whirlpooling her eardrums in silence._

 _Where was he? What was he doing? Painting? Punishing? Sipping on a cocktail of bourbon and blood? Dying? Why hadn't he answered?_

 _Why?_

 _RING._

 _Breath tied into a knot at the base of Caroline's throat while her tongue licked the back of her clenched teeth, eyes stinging with pain because she dared not blink. Or flinch._

 _Fists curled into strangled clumps. Two. First the right, then the left._

 _Hands became scrunched white fingers and veins pounding, pounding, pounding from lack of circulation; intestines coiled in her belly, nausea rippling waves against her abdomen; lungs became prunes too shriveled to function…_

 _…But she was fine. Perfectly fine._

 _RING._

 _This was not panic._

 _This was not worry._

 _This was not dread._

 _This was nothing, nothing but a missed call._

 _NOTHING._

 _RING, RI—_

 _"Friend or foe?" Klaus answered, his voice dipping low in half-snarl. It vibrated through the phone with severity and command. "State your business, please."_

 _Her palms became slick with sweat. A loud heartbeat blasted in her ears, percussing HE'S ALIVE! HE'S ALIVE! throughout her body in operatic symphony. But no words came._

 _"Hello?"_

 _She was mute. Unable to speak._

 _"Hello?"_

 _Silence, silence, silence._

 _Klaus growled, an impatient roar building deep inside his chest. The sound of shattering, crunching glass filled the background. "Answer me!"_

 _She could not._

 _"Know this listener: the VendettaBringer's days are numbered—they dwindle away like tiny droplets of sand. I am close. Aurora's head I soon will possess…on a SPIKE! Do not make me come for you," he warned, "for I promise you, too, will regret it."_

 _And then, with a click, he was gone._

* * *

Caroline glanced between her two aloft buzzards, addressing them both with crossed arms.

"Say what you need to say."

"Are you suuure?" Naughty Nuisance Nik crooned.

Zipping in upside-down, he descended onto her left shoulder with his hands cupped behind his head and his black dragon wings cocooning him in a deceptive kind of flying relaxation.

"Yes!" she exclaimed.

"Positive?"

"For crying out loud! Just—"

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in surrender. "This is extremely important, so listen closely…" he suggested.

As Caroline gulped and leaned forward on her knees to see him more clearly, rock music filled the air. It started quiet, then thrummed louder and louder. Vibrating from his tiny little body all pulsation and back-beats.

"…We're the man haunting your shouuuulders," he sang in a low baritone, music humming from his vocal cords. "You sass, and we sneer. You hold up a hand, we offer a mirror. Heart-messages of _yours_ are buried in fear. We pucker and smooch until you hear…so open your ears because the message is _here_."

As Naughty Nuisance Nik finished his tune, he strummed the fingers of his right hand across the middle of his chest like it were a guitar.

Caroline shook her head in disbelief. Backed away and croaked, "No."

"Yes."

Finals long forgotten now, her legs quivered beneath her as she slid down the windowsill to the floor, a loud _pounding pounding pounding_ drumming in her head while the dorm room spun and spun and spun. Her pulse accelerated. Hands tore through hair to form nest of wild, untidy curls atop her head. Eyes bled into the hardwood floor, glossy and gleaming bright; hunger trumpeting not from the stomach, but from the soul.

Emotions surged and swirled in combustive chaos as astonishment tripped into acknowledgement and obliterated logic, denial, and disapproval. Epiphany drenched her in fire and ice, fervor and bewilderment, all of that sticky sweat prickling her spine in a trail of gliding droplets. It goosebumped five letters—a name—just one—across the tissue beneath her skin.

"Are you—are you telling me you're _heart_ messengers?" she stammered. "From…" she compressed her lips together, reigning in her puzzlement, "from _my_ heart?"

"So much more than a pretty face," Charming Chump Klaus applauded, notably pleased.

"Ding-dong, the message has been read: Your heart's true mate now lives in halves on either side of your beautiful, swirling head!" added Naughty Nuisance Nik as he crossed an _X_ over his heart in confirmation. "And guess what? He's calling out to you."

This was not happening, this could _not_ be happening!

"I don't…I don't know what I'm supposed to say?" Caroline blanched. An invisible bat blundered her head again and again and again. "Or do?"

"We're only here for you to listen, princess. The rest is up to you."

This wasn't…it wasn't possible. If it was, then that meant Klaus was her…that she ultimately wanted…that her heart belonged to…was she reaching out for him, too?

Crawling onto her bed, she collapsed back against her pillows and closed her eyes; opening her ears—fully and without restraint—to the _buzz-buzz_ ing Klaus-messages still playing in her heart on replay:

 _You wear his name_

 _dabbed_

 _in tattoo stains and paint,_

 _calligraphied_

 _within songs stuck on refrain,_

 _seeded_

 _across plains of grain—_

 _all of your denial_

 _dipped_

 _in love's bane._

xx

 _There's no magic laser,_

 _no eraser._

 _He, you will not escape._

 _xx_

 _He's the voice_

 _whip-cracking_

 _through the silence_

 _amid all your sassy_

 _defiance,_

 _that forever kind_

 _of siren—_

 _a love tyrant_

 _not always near,_

 _but dear._

 _xx_

 _A fool perhaps,_

 _but only a fool_

 _for you._

 _xx_

 _He's your moon,_

 _your North Star_

 _guiding you_

 _home_

 _back to love in the_

 _afternoon,_

 _your revolving planet—_

 _forever yours_

 _in hate_

 _or in swoon._

 _xx_

 _You taste his kindred soul_

 _in sunbeams_

 _spilled from a teaspoon._

 _xx_

 _You + Him + Infinity_

 _xx_

 _This is how it never ends—_

 _because again_

 _and again_

 _and again_

 _your two lasso'd hearts_

 _will begin._

 _xx_

 _Eternity's sweetest sin._

Caroline heard her little prattling heart insects loud and clear, felt every letter they whispered as it crossed the threshold of fear and tumbled into her listening ear, spelling his name in bold cursive: K-L-A-U-S.

Klaus was the man. The hybrid legend. The reciprocated package. Bone to bone and blood to blood, they were the same; perfectly matched as the elusive One. His soul howled for hers in the darkness from far or near, and when New Orleans had whistled in the wind at her with dangerous prophecy, she packed her queenly bags and sauntered into his city primed to love, protect, and attack. Never once looking back.

Klaus, she'd save. Aurora, they'd fool. The world, they'd revere and conquer. And shoulder-to-shoulder, heart-to-heart, they'd rule.

* * *

 **My brain is a strange animal. I have no other excuses to offer haha. Thoughts? Thanks for reading and for the continued support. Ya'll rock! xx**


	22. Empty and Embottled (Part 1)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : For Day 6 Myths/Legends. This is Part 1 of a Genie AU that spiraled into (unprompted) existence after hearing "Genie in a Bottle" by Christinia Aguilera on shuffle of all things. Have at it. :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Rub him the right way—with fingernails that scratch along the etched bottleneck and two counterclockwise twists that crack open an antique lid, tipping him to the right before pouring him out like congealed oil so he dribbles forward in tepid hues of spilled paint and malt whiskey—and a lucky artifact pilferer will be in for a magic carpet kind of surprise: All sand-mist and fury. Moontide power that rotates like a black hole. Wrists and ankles shackled in diamond-gold with numerous glittering jewels. A hiss. Two nostril'd snarls. Thunder blue eyes. A slowly solidifying man written into the universal fabric with mystical graphite and who's doused in an angry aura of scarlet-granite sparkles. A striking figure who's adorned in synthetic black sky and silk. Has midnight blue skin that shimmers with each tickle of the wind. Wears silvery scars that map him in night's crescents, triangle teeth, and curled striations. Who grins harshly, his dimples creased with antiquity and powers unforetold. Who wants to blast the land with flame and wind and waves and freezing, shivering cold. Who drinks fountains of dreams from others until he's tipsy and swirling, drunker than drunk on belief; slurping hope from them until it no longer bleeds against his teeth.

With a grandiose _crack_ and a _smash_ and a _flash_ , he appears before his beckoner draped in smoke and flare. Indignation blasts from him in _say goodnight to humdrum life_ as he glowers so hard his pupils stab the world at first sight _._

No, Klaus Mikaelson isn't the kind of man who likes to be disturbed. Never was. Never will be.

Faintly, distantly, he remembers the Bennett _bitch_ who chained him to immortal servitude. An incantation here, a cackle there, miles of flowing fabric and hair. How all it took was a sip. Just one sip and his entire life splintered then shook—sucking out all the magic from his lips only to siphon it into a beautifully engraved trinket. Then locking both it, and him, inside. How the wind within licked his skin in flecks of twinkling mirage and wishes yet unsold. Cuffs slamming hard over his hands and feet. Gravity lassoing him around the middle, jerking him to the left and then to the right. Towing him backwards. Out of sight.

He recalls tearing. His muscles lacerating. Being ripped from a turgid world that felt warm and broad and adventurous. Full of light. Feeling his body suddenly tucked into shallow halls that echoed and between walls that fortressed him beneath a lidded rectangle screwed on tight, his lethal power tempered—contained in artistic grooves and swoops, his hapless soul now damned to loneliness and eternal night. He recollects how he reached out for a hand. Strained his ears to listen for some saving voice speaking, ushering him somewhere louder or lamplit…and was greeted with nothing but dust. And silence. And mist.

 _What awful curse had placed him here? Why, and what for? Had someone else championed him with magic? Was it that Bennett bitch who had won?_

He realizes his mind wiped clean the moment the object sucked him inside. It drained him of his old life, memories scattering like fog into hidden corners; and he'd forgotten who he was, who he had been. A whip glamoured in purple-green frost and galaxy light stripped a triangle into his right shoulder blade the moment he'd entered and branded him into what he would be today, tomorrow, and forever more.

 _A genie_.

Invincible and immortal, he was and is, but damned to obey. Doomed to serve the commands of an object and its possessor, not the head, the heart, or the voice chosen from his own personal taste _._

 _I am contracted._

 _No longer free._

 _No longer me._

A furious fist flew out to puncture his new enslaving abyss—one last grasp at days of old, at freedom as precious as gold—but it bounced off. Fingers slipped. Unable to re-grip the untethered life he soon knew he would miss.

xxx

For the past five thousand years, therefore, doom and dreariness have permeated the little _S_ -bend of the Arabian flask Klaus has grown to consider a mattress, his home. He's stuck. Trapped. A skeleton buried in Night's eternal palace with no other bones.

And, oh, how he hates this sorcery-bound existence! How he despises this noiseless compartment built from sturdy, iron-fused stone. How he loathes the crunching feet and humming voices that abound the earth above as the sand buries him deeper and deeper, as the world passes him by like an unmarked gravestone. But he's resigned himself to the darkness. Zipping into its flat edges and precise dimensions like a shadow, only slithering up and out to accost greedy humans with wielded magic that turns all of their hopes to ice. Then shattering them into penny pieces before their eyes with a swipe that screams splice, splice, splice!

Angry and resentful, hollow, all alone, he knows people do not _rub-a-dub-dub_ against his entrancing walls to break his restraints and cast him freely into the daylight, but to pad their already privileged lives.

 _Gluttons. Maniacs. Prizers. Coveters._ Each and every one of them fools _._

Klaus despises them all.

How _dare_ their grubby hands rankle him by the throat! How _dare_ they toss him like garbage into the sandy desert dirt! How _dare_ these ungrateful wretches lust for everything but revere nothing! They stir him from slumber and solitude with a lightning crack of purple-black smolder, dragging him back into the blinding nostalgia—such a bleary, winding world brimming with such life sweet life! such bluster and beauty of which he can glimpse, but can no longer touch!—and bow before him to stutter with disbelief or gratitude or boast.

Always asking, asking, asking. Taking, taking, taking.

 _I wish, I wish, I wish,_ their curled and ravenous lips utter, _I need, I need, I need._

Klaus wants to shred his corneas like tattered shoestrings so he does not see. He wants to defile his own eardrums so he does not hear. He wants to quarter his own tongue like a sacrificial lamb so he cannot taste or speak of the majesty out there of which he can no longer partake, hammering the nerves that spike with electricity each and every time these horrible people crash into his home and into his mind, forcing him to _feel_.

Vicariously, he feels it all. Everything. The sensations infiltrate him like river-rafts of gushing blood to deluge his senses full of knowledge at-first-touch. Who they are, what they want, when they come, the kind of emotions they project or breathe…the information blares in dissonant piano keys and screeching violin strings. It all aneurysms inside of his head in various blades of agony.

 _Learn it all. Feel more and more and more. The mind has no choice but to store and preserve._

But Klaus ferments in the perpetual misery. Sharpening himself into something sinister that chomps and chews. Because when yet another rub beckons, yanking him from his sinewy black bed by enchanted leash and propelling him outward like spilled spaghetti, he strikes—becoming the seductive, scheming genie who grants wishes not with virtue but with vice.

 _After all_ , he reckons, sin erupting from his eyes in two bullets from the same gun, _all granted magic should come with a price…_

* * *

How long has it been since his last human contact, Klaus ponders? A fortnight? A few decades? A century or two? Maybe three?

Time bleeds into the blackness of this forsaken place, making it impossible to gauge as the winds kick him from country to village to city in hypnotizing ney notes. The whistled chimes, which play the tune of the moon, come from three vertical windows cut into the crocodile-patterned flask face as he hurdles across the arid lands. The airy song calls out to all souls that meander about in desolation or in wanderlust—their eyes searching, their hands empty but grasping at grains of sand trying to construct themselves a sandpalace of dreams, their hungry hearts craving treasure once lost or never found. The music busts open hibernation cocoons and attaches butterfly wings to the backs of avaricious dreamers and sends them flying toward him in pursuit.

From far and wide, it's the starry-eyed suckers who come toting shovels over their shoulders. They dig him up from beneath desert dunes, one-by-one, and dump him out. Kicking at him like magical refuse and opening their tote bag of wishes before his hands in trick-or-treat. Begging for things or people or money. Demanding the whole damn world.

 _Who comes now?_ Klaus wonders. _Who will be next?_

One day, just as Indian summer blisters into autumn, he receives his answer in the form of thrumming fingernails. Pristine and polished a perky pink, they scrape a lively tango against the infinity crown ivy and white-violet chrysanthemums that curl around the ancient flask and alert him to his next victim: a bold, chirping female. Her fingertips flare vanilla streaks into the stained glass walls, shooting a brief sunrise across his consciousness, and awaken his supernatural senses as he pours before her billowed in midnight silk and clouds.

"Hello Caroline. How lovely to serve you this evening," he drawls from bended knee. "Tell me—" eyes lift to her face as a snake's smile unscrolls against his mouth, "which five of your heart's truest desires will you care to sacrifice for summoning me?"

* * *

 **Not much Klaroline yet, I know, but there is more to come. Thanks for reading!**

 **Reviews are lovely. xx**


	23. With a Love that Echoes

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : A belated birthday drabble for the lovely klarolinekolvina who asked for Klaroline in Rome. I wanted to post this for Canon-ish or Trope day of AU Week, but my writing pace is equivalent to that of a sloth haha.**

 **Happy reading. :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Rome is a city of whispers constructed from stones of passion, from mortar of yearning. It's connected by streets humming with undead whispers and ghostly breaths that flip backward and forward through crinkled pages of antiquity to scribble into margins with the ink of modernity. It records everything. Architectures past and present history. Catacombs mysteries of war and peace, of empires teeming with a mixture of greed and envy, the scheming siblings of necessity; of contentment, of wretchedness—all for future generations to unearth from beneath worn lids that creak. It languages its culture in evolving, expanding dialects of art and music that cleft society in remarkable shades of inspiration. And genuine beauty. Cathedrals love in the hymn that slips from two lovers' lips as they share a kiss before the basilica steps. It puffs and parades through the eclogues of time…a place not untouched, but uncrushed.

Like the two of them, creatures who are made from the flesh and bone and blood of eternity, the city never dies; its pulse never stops beating.

"Do you know why I first offered to bring you here all those years ago, Caroline?" Klaus asks the evening of their first trip, his fingers laced through the belt loops around her waist as they ambled down a crowded walkway.

"Probably to woo me with an offer you thought would be impossible for this Little Miss Small Town Gal to resist. Which, unfortunately for you," she laughs, "did not work out in your favor like… _at all_."

"Actually, no."

A coy smile brightens her lips as she tilts her head and squints at him.

"Really? Tell me then," she says, curiosity blooming in the bright hue of her eyes, "if your intention was not to swoon me into your hybrid arms with the dangling charms of overseas travel, then what was?"

"Make no mistake, love, I certainly hoped to whisk you up and away that night. That is no secret."

"Yes, that much I knew."

Klaus nods and reaches for her other hand so he can intertwine their fingers, then presses her hand against his chest like it was a long missing key he needed to keep close.

"But I didn't want to take you merely anywhere, you see," he says.

"Okay…" Confusion crinkles her nose. "So, why Rome?"

He allows their pace to dissipate as they near the Trevi Fountain, the air tinkling with the sound of water lapping and rippling against slowly sinking coins from tossed wishes, and drops his chin to study the movement of their feet. How they're perfectly matched in bounce and stride. Parallel. Relaxed. In sync. Sensing when to skirt, side-step, or stop. In no need of speed, or of pivots from which toes could spring and sprint free.

Their feet now tread with comfort and familiarity, soles cushioned in the kind of confidence, allegiance, and devotion that crunches discord from armies of foes into dirt—a pair. Like shoes, one left and one right, opposite but bunny-eared in the same shoelaces, they are a pair. Striking apart, but stunning together. Better when united.

"What is it about this place? Why did you want me to come here with you?" Caroline asks.

"Because—" Klaus pauses, husky prose seeping into his voice as he leans over to lift her chin, tracing his thumb over her upper lip, "because this city _remembers_. It radiates and reverberates; it never forgets a single damn thing. I wanted to take you somewhere bold and beautiful. Somewhere new to you, and different. Then watch as its exuberance reflected back at me through your eyes."

He is an enchantment that drunkens Caroline's senses like brandy. His words gust against the skin of her neck, sending electric jolts careening down her spine.

"I wanted to take you to a place you'd never been before because I understood how you—that _we_ —could footprint our names and experiences into stones that fade, but in Rome, will never crumble away. No matter how many years or decades that would've passed if we had gone our separate ways afterward, I always knew I could come back here to find you. That like a memory pressed into an old book, the city would fossilize you. And the story we'd written together during that time would remain. I knew could I come here to re-read it like a smudged paragraph on a folded page when I grew too lost in this world. Too lonely," Klaus says.

Nuzzled tight into his chest, her mind whirs as she peers out across the water and hears the plopping music the fountain plays and how it mirrors the marbles of affection her hybrid bestows on her in unexpected moments. How again and again, he steals her breath away.

"It's not too late, you know," she answers, pulling back to cup his face. "We're here now. Today. This together-life of ours is still young, and we have plenty of time left to mark it up in memory clay."

"I know we do, love." He exhales against her forehead and drops his gaze to disguise the dimpled color seeping into his cheeks. "I'm still reconciling myself to you now being _mine_ in every way, is all," he says.

Her expression beams and shimmers with warmth of feeling as she wraps her arms around his neck, leaning in to pepper a few kisses beneath his right earlobe. Klaus buries his face into her hair and hums.

"Well, get used to it, mister," she scolds teasingly against his jawbone, "because I'm here to stay. I'm with you until the end."

His stubble scratches along her cheek as his voice dips, timbering with rawness, "Do you promise?" he murmurs.

Caroline draws back again to consider him for a moment. She stares hard into those fixed and penetrating eyes of his, discerning how deep within his pupils a modicum of doubt forever flickers there in a flaming fear never to be extinguished. Realizing that a small part of him will never believe himself worthy of her, or of her heart. But in defiance, he will continue to love her anyway.

"Hmm, I'd say that depends," she says as she simpers.

"On?"

"On whether or not you can do this one _tiny_ little thing for me while we're here…"

Klaus bends so close their foreheads touch, mouths hovering only inches apart. He whispers, "Name it and it's yours, sweetheart."

"Take me everywhere," she breathes as their lips collide, fervency shuddering inside them both in mounds of sugar and spice. "Chisel me into the land with your roaming hands and your tender, thrusting hips and your tulip petal tongue that cursives your name across my heart and my body, because I am yours. _All yours_."

Heady and desperate, yet tender and soulful, this one flawless kiss they share fires atoms deep into the cosmos and transcends them high into clouds fashioned out of Italian balladry and sunset. It tastes _divine_. Sweet as a once-forbidden apple with no rind.

"Usher me down streets and up stairs, dangle me from the Colosseum's edges, dip me in Vatican holy water or anoint me in sin beneath the murals of the Sistine Chapel—I do not care. Let's do it all!"

"Take me everywhere, Klaus," Caroline repeats, her hands tangling through necklaces, jacket, and hair. "I want our love to echo all over this city in thumping bass."

And since both Rome and these two tethered Original heartmates live forever, it does…in crescendo.

* * *

 ** _"Let me sink my hands_**

 ** _on your flesh,_**

 ** _the hollowest parts of you_**

 ** _as I fill in the missing gaps._**

 ** _Darling, I want_**

 ** _to light you up_**

 ** _softly, fiercely—_**

 ** _together, we will set_**

 ** _this entire city on fire."_**

— _Embers_ , Rej Jaen

* * *

 **I used Rome's "Eternal City" motif as inspiration for this. Also, writing this made me extremely emotional for whatever reason? * _still crying_ * **

**Anyway, I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think.** **Thanks so much for reading! xx**


	24. Queen of Hearts

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : A mini-drabble from Tumblr inspired by Klaus' jaw-dropping, I-fancy-you-gazes at Caroline at the Mikaelson Ball in 3x14. It's short and sweet, but I should have something a little longer and costume-festive within the next couple of days. Enjoy. ;)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

The twinkling awe…the breathless gasp of admiration…softening parted lips that had remained twitched in snarl for centuries upon centuries because romantic captivation made a monster weak. Easy to _break_. Crumbling a feared man into forlorn pieces of earth stomped or swept away. And he was not feeble. Or delicate. Or crushable.

He was powerful, he was strong—meant to be invincible all along. The most intimidating immortal of them all.

Klaus controlled everything: the angry assurance that blotted his features, the retaliatory swipes that landed him on his knees, the adrenaline that fueled his blind and raging heart, the hybrid bite that set him apart. He hardened his emotions into steel. Wielded them like an iron blade stoked in flame. They ribboned him into shards of cunning and calculation, molding him into a diabolical mind that only thought and strategized, but never cared. Never dared.

Until he met _her_.

Until he met her, he was the ace with all the cards. The master of chess. He sacrificed jacks and collected rook and knight bones to pile beneath his feet like a throne without thinking twice. But then she first spoke to him one night with a mouth carved in a smile of fire and ice; it became the moment that upended his life. Coloring his world again in a mixture of darkness and light. Surrendering his soul to human sensibilities he knew not how to fight.

Like a spade, she stabbed him roughly. Ruggedly. But with precision.

And before he knew it, he bowed before her, forehead pressed against her glass-slipper toes, suddenly under a spell she never intended to conjure. He raised his hand upward—outward—with fingers that quivered as they requested her company. The honor of one dance, a waltz. Nothing more than a musically transcendent moment, like a string that's plucked and clips through the air in lovely cello echo. A note of melody upon which their two feet could shift, slide, and skid together.

That's when her silk glove slipped tentatively into his palm. Flexing goosebumps of enchantment across his skin and unraveling sense in spools from his head, robbing him of sensations he'd long ago locked behind corrals of loneliness. Believing them gone. Eradicated. Deader than dead.

One look.

One breath.

One touch.

One step.

One millennia worth of resolve slaughtered by a bullseye dart.

One woman to whom he'd now offer up the most sacred and unlikely of cards—the queen of hearts.

* * *

 **Comments are lovely. Thanks for reading!**


	25. Hallowboozed On You

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Klaus and Caroline reunite at the same college costume party on Halloween. Canon-ish (sans magical babies). Fluff. Slightly crack. Happy reading.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Skeleton-pumpkin flames illuminated costumes in flickering ghostlight and moon shadows branched across masked, painted faces as college couples swayed like flitting autumn leaves to spooky music. It was a holiday. A midnight celebration accented by hay bales, crackling bonfires, weathered headstones and gargoyles, bubbling cauldrons, hot (and spiked) apple cider, chocolatey treats, and twisted tricks that transformed grinning Jack O'Lantern mouths into gaping bat caves with teeth. Tonight was a night of welcome, of coffined thoughts that resurrected in cackling whispers. And of memories that no longer slept in peace.

And while Caroline knew All Hallows' Eve ushered back many lost, restless souls on this same night every year and once again deposited them among people and places they'd vacated long ago, not one of them haunted her more than _him_. Not one of them terrified her more than a certain hybrid. The same one who strode toward her right now on his long-living mummy feet.

"Trick or treat, Caroline," he drawled, his eyes arresting her with brazenness, "how lovely to bump into you amid all the celebratory festivities. What's new?"

"I think Hallow _boo_ would be a more appropriate greeting, don't you?" she replied.

"If you say so."

"Why are you here, Klaus?"

He slipped his hands behind his back and shrugged, "Because I was invited."

"What!?" Caroline blanched. He compressed a chuckle between his lips. "By who?"

"Friends of yours, I presume," he said. "They were quite persuasive. Insistent, I should say." He fished something from his pocket. "Notice the inflated language."

Grinning now, those dimples of his on full display, he extended to her a personalized invitation. It was addressed to one _Klaus Mikaelson of the Original Family_ and was written in Enzo's familiar, scratchy scrawl and signatured in Katherine's swirling _xoxo_ swoops. It read:

 _Klausy,_

 _Are you a fan of Halloweeny magic? Doubtful._

 _Are you a drinker of blood and booze? Only for centuries._

 _Are you desirous of a reunion with one beloved and blonde perky angel of death? Definitely!_

 _The time has come at last, my fanged friend, for two undead souls to re-meet!_

 _To retrieve your exclusive Caroline Pumpkin'd Treat, therefore, you must compel yourself a flying broom and deposit your_ ** _costumed_** _buttocks at this year's Spook-Tastic Autumn Smash._

 _Decline and you risk spoiled (Forbes) Hershey kisses For. The. Rest. Of. ETERNITY._

 _XOXO Your Trusty Bloodsucking Cupids,_

 _—Kat and Enzo_

 _P.S. Bring your family, if you please!_

 ** _Arrival time_** _: Before Midnight_

 ** _Arrival date_** _: October 31st_

 ** _Arrival place_** _: Whitmore College Cemetery_

Throwing a hand over her mouth, Caroline gasped.

Drunken confessions about sexy, stubbled Klaus at Whittle's Bar were outlawed as nonsense, goddammit! She'd _chainsaw massacre_ the two of them for this! They were dead— buried alive under mountains of dirt and hammered-in-rusty-nails kind of dead. Dead, dead, _dead_!

Shoving the invitation hard against the emblem resting in the middle of his chest, she huffed and said, "Please don't tell me you let these two _idiots_ trick you into coming here tonight? What was your plan? To appear like the Phantom of the Opera and bewitch me with flattery and an accent?" She sneered. "Nice try, but it won't work."

"Easy, love," he said. Raising his hands, Klaus shook his head and dropped his chin, "I assure you the power to bewitch is _entirely_ on your side."

As Caroline's heart thumped with sugary adrenaline at this, rendering her mute; he kicked at a ghost decoration with his shoe. Both lost in thought, neither one of them noticed Corrupt 'Frisky' Cop Katherine handcuffing Business Man Elijah with his necktie and disappearing into the haunted maze. Or saw Deadpool Enzo dribbling chocolate spiders into Caped Assassin Rebekah's mouth near the zombie brains table.

"Since I _am_ present, however," Klaus said, clearing his throat and looking up again, "I had hoped to procure myself a spot on your Monster Mash sheet this evening. Is that honor possible? Or should I skulk back to the unvisited French Quarter grave from whence I came?"

"You traveled all this way to dance?"

"I did."

"Here?" Caroline gestured at the crowded cemetery around them. "At a college costume party? Seriously?" She laughed. "I bet New Orleans boasts a much better night life, so I don't know why you bothered."

"It does," he said, "but to clarify: _you_ are the reason I made this trip. I'm prepared to dance the night away…but only with you." He bit his lower lip sheepishly as he spoke, slowly meeting her gaze with a look of hybrid intensity. "This can't be hard for you to believe, surely?"

No, it wasn't. Not anymore—it hadn't been for a long time now. And yet, her stomach still somersaulted at his words and upended cages upon cages of flapping hummingbirds inside of her, soaring her heart's pulse sky high.

"Besides," Klaus continued, "it's not every day that a man like myself has the opportunity to twirl Lady Vamp Liberty through a sea of belligerent frat boys."

Caroline crossed her arms and quirked her right eyebrow at him. "And here I thought old farts like you had already done everything?" she countered.

"I may be ancient, sweetheart, but a few pleasures remain this life from which I have yet to partake—and this is one of them. So," he said, his expression quickly transforming into pretty-please puppy pout, "shall we dance?"

That scruffy, dimpled face…those hopeful and penetrating golden-blue eyes…the hesitancy which trembled his knees as he treaded forward on tip-toes, eager but watchful…the foot-popping charm that melted from his mouth in milk chocolate…the patient posture of his words…those two parked feet, how they tapped to each _tick tock_ of time that passed on Life's clock…waiting…always waiting.

Damn him! The man was incorrigible. Freaking _impossible_.

"Fine," she sighed, resigned, "one. Just one dance."

Klaus looked more than a little pleased. "One is all I need."

Mirth and mischief danced across his upturning lips as he offered her his hand, which she took after one head lull and a large roll of the eyes, and escorted them around numerous tootsie-rolling-gettin'-jiggy-with-it undergrads toward a clear patch of floor that was a little isolated and trellised in intertwining cornstalks. The melody to Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ cut through the chilled October breeze to mingle with the crumpled rustling of leaves. Soft orange ghostlight licked across their faces as Klaus' arm enveloped her by the waist, his fingertips pressing gentle trumpet notes into the sleek green fabric of her costume. Reeling her in tighter. Closer.

Gold bracelets clunked against Caroline's wrists as she slid one hand onto his shoulder and rested the other in his left palm. She considered him. Her head was tilted, and her was smile curious but controlled.

"Speaking of the number one, by the way," she said, "can we please talk about what in the name of _hell_ you think you're wearing?"

"It's called a costume, love." She groaned at his evasion. "Which, if I'm not mistaken, was a requirement to attend this soirée, yes?"

"But if you'd prefer," he added, "I'm sure I could slip into something less cumbersome and more—what's the word?" He paused, leaning in all waggling eyebrows, his voice deepening to a husky rasp, "Ah, yes—I could change into something more freeing and…" he smirked, desire springing from his eyes "… _nude._ "

"No, no! That's okay!" Caroline answered with a hurried gulp and a blush, her mind traveling back to their (steamy) tryst in the woods three years ago. "I think I'll pass. No birthday suits from you tonight, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Positive?"

She whacked him hard in the arm. The smart ass.

"Okay, okay," Klaus chucked as he spun them to the right. "But if you change your mind…" How he _loved_ to ruffle her complacency. "I'm more than happy to oblige," he said with a wink.

* * *

Pumpkin and black cat ornaments dangled like mistletoe from a cornstalk canopy above their heads while they swayed together on the gravelly ground, both lost in a private yet shared harmony. Enchantment sprinkled over Klaus and Caroline. Like fairy dust, it lightened their feet. Propelling their hearts, if only fleetingly, into a supernova'd star where they blazed with fire forever young and dazzling. Beautifully untamed, it ignited spectrums of color only they and their two eyes could see.

The DJ drifted into a sixth song now and, still, Caroline made no move to tear herself away. Instead, like an iceberg, she floated closer to the scrumptious sizzle of the Original's mouth and sunk into the sturdy pillow he provided, becoming ice that felt both delicate and dense in his arms.

After a few moments of charged silence, Klaus breathed into her hair to say, "Judging by that scrunched look on your face, I take it you disapprove of my choice of costume?"

"I don't disapprove but—"

"But you dislike it." He sighed. "I'll have you know I went to a lot of trouble to put this concept together."

That, she believed. Everything he donned tonight appeared to be expensive, one of a kind, and tailored to perfection. (Meaning God only who knew how many poor souls he'd compelled to make this look possible).

"Well, I mean…it's creative and ostentatious? I'll give you that much," she laughed against his cheek.

"That's better than boring and predictable."

"True."

"At any rate, I thought you'd appreciate the metaphor," he said.

Caroline's forehead crinkled at that word ' _appreciate_.' Why should she? Because the man wore a silver-lettered crown that flashed the word _THE_ in diamond lights? Because he dressed himself two-feet-above-the-head-to-the-knees in puffy, poker-red topped off with black jeans and long furry werewolf sleeves? Because he stuffed himself into a ginormous foam finger that transformed his lithe figure into a staunch number? All for hordes of university-partiers to gawk at or whisper about with laughter? Or with intrigue?

Everyone everywhere already knew Klaus was the world's one _true_ immortal, right? He was The King of the Supernatural Species. The Hybrid One. The Alpha Omega. The MonsterMan Who Cannot Be Killed. Squeezing all of that symbolism into a Halloween costume was just plain insane, obnoxious, and unnecessary. And, yet, on the other hand, it was so unbelievably _typical._

With grand gestures and spectacles borne of passion and impulsivity, Klaus compelled the world to marvel at his violent, artistic constructions. There was no halfway with him. The man was a credo: _All in or nothing_.

And if anything, Caroline wanted to howl with laughter at his arrogant selection of costume _not_ appreciate it.

But what if…what if this was his intention all along? To make a joke of himself? To be ridiculous? (Because right now, with him standing before her all tall and proud as a flaming #1 Incarnate, he _was_.)

"I do. I get the metaphor," she said, "all except for, you know, the rockin' ruby. What's the deal with this thing, anyway?" Her fingers trailed around the plush circumference. "It's holed into your chest…perching there like you're Iron Man or something (which, _ha_ , wishful thinking, buddy). I don't know, it seems out of place to me?"

"The candy apple is reserved," Klaus explained, "and right where it belongs."

Cryptic much? Caroline scratched her head. "I don't get it."

"Really, love?" His eyes twinkled as he tilted forward, his husky words gusting across her cheek when he added with a hum and a whisper, "Don't you?"

"Has anyone told you that you're an insufferable _ass_?"

"Not anyone who lived afterward, no," he smirked.

Unnerved by the taunt in his delivery and that strange glint in his expression, Caroline scoffed and scrutinized him with a curious squint before—without a thought—she plunged her hand deep inside a softball-sized cave of red foam to fist the ruby apple; ripping it forcefully, violently, like a heart, from his costumed chest. She'd take a closer look at this reserved _thing_ whether he liked it or not _._ If he wouldn't give her any clues, she'd figure it out on her own. Time to get the bottom of his stupid symbolism once and for all.

Klaus' dimpled grin multiplied by three sizes as soon as she touched it. For the moment her fingers curled around the candy rock, it vibrated and ignited against her palm, shimmering with warm red and white light. The unexpectedness shot Caroline out of her skin…and crashed her into him. Hard.

"Oh my God, it's possessed! It's freaking _possessed_!" she shuddered and squealed, burying her face into the hollow of his neck.

"Calm yourself, sweetheart. It won't bite you."

He peeled her back gently, with fingers that traced circles against her bare shoulders, guiding her eyes back to the candy apple ruby which rested like a jewel on top of their joined cupped hands. The words _for Caroline_ flashed up at them in beautiful, sparkling light.

"It's nothing but a little hocus pocus," Klaus said, "just some genuine magic that's all yours tonight. And always."

Kol and Kai, who were adorned in matching blue Snuggies patterned with silver lightning bolts, appeared then wielding (fake) star-tipped wands raised in love and war. In pursuit of the same enchanting Catwoman, they body slammed each other like bumper cars and bellowed _I put a spell on you and now you're miiiiine_ at Bonnie's retreating back.

The two wizards flurried away the remaining air in Caroline's lungs as they zipped past. Leaving her lightheaded, exhilarated, and slightly giddy.

"You know what I think?" she asked at last, recovering her words.

"What's that?"

"I think your costume…your crazy, out-of-your-freaking- _mind_ idea to come dressed as the 'One for Me _'_ —" Klaus swallowed a lump in his throat "—to expose yourself and your feelings, literally _wearing_ them in flaring, flagrant red, witch-spelling or hexing my name into a candy heart rock for a campus full of strangers to see whenever I touched it?"

"That," she said, eyes steady but glistening, "is the _exact_ definition of Hallowbooze debauchery."

She smiled and stroked the nape of his neck with her thumb. He drew her in. Allowed her head to fall, to curl onto his shoulder with a sweet sigh so her breath could prickle his skin. It warmed the lonely shiver that blistered in pain within him.

"No, Caroline. The only booze I'm drunk on," Klaus said, connective spirits swelling around them in Halloween hymn; their hips swinging side-to-side like sweeping brooms to mimic the party mood, "…is _you_."

* * *

 **Caroline costumed as Lady Vamp Liberty (because all I want is for her to be free), Klaus as The One for Caroline (because corny symbolism gives me life) Kol and Kai as wizards in Snuggies (blame Kaitlyn aka she-walked-away), and Katherine and Enzo as Klaroline's Halloween-scheming Cupids (because I just couldn't help myself).** **I don't know where I get these ideas, honestly haha.**

 **Thoughts? Reviews are lovely.**

 **Thanks for reading! xx**


	26. Love Like Her

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** : **Life, family, the holidays, and other projects have kept me preoccupied and have dwindled away much time since my last update. * _cries_ * That being said, I listened to "Give Me Love" by Ed Sheeran the other day and found myself drowning with Klaroline feels and inspiration (not to mention actual _time_ to write fic). I hope you like it, lovelies! :)**

* * *

A thousand years crinkled past him like the unraveling of a musty, mutinous, yellowing and indecipherable, distressed scroll of parchment. The passage of time blurred language into numbers. Marred black-and-white photos with red scribbles and ink. Dotted the 'eyes' of affection with triangles, not hearts. Confused certainty with mystery. Stored a catalogue of faces and places—all of those precious, painful stories packed into vertical, horizontal, or diagonal lines—deep into the crevasses of a forgotten page until they compressed into nothing more than shadow-petal ghosts then faded away one letter…one moment…one person at a time.

As a man, he was oxymoron personified: Old yet young. Charismatic and cultured, but shackled in fur-fang savagery. Wise in many regards, but still so clueless. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

The funnel clouds of his life pummeled him relentlessly. He trudged, day to day, through the thick precipitation of hell itself.

Family.

Ambition.

Treachery.

Rage.

Necessity.

Agony.

Duplicity.

Enemy.

He was trapped in this vicious cyclone all alone. Without promise. Without hope of a searching hand that'd bust through the blackness, and wrench him free.

Who was Klaus Mikaelson, after all, if not the devil's chosen sufferer? Who was he, if not his favorite tainted, unwanted, _miserable_ beast?

Despite all the bleak edges on this man's parchment, however, and in lieu of all the tattered scraps which left behind proof of a wearying existence blotted with war and betrayal and anguish and disappointment, only one prayer managed to escape the barred threshold of his heart's lips in a thousand years. _One—_ in all that time.

And when his heart finally blurted the prayer out loud, the words tumbled forward in a whispered plea:

 _Give me love like her_

* * *

Every day it grew worse and worse.

In moments rife with disagreement or tension, their two perfectly matched tongues sparred like daggers that refracted whirling shades of light and dark into the surrounding atmosphere. And the wordplay never failed to buoy his chest with delight. Yes, Klaus adored a good challenge. And this woman, this exuberant spitfire of a woman, knew just how to damn him.

Looking back now, he considered himself to be _polluted at first fang-plunging bite_.

Caroline Forbes was his boulevard of twinkling, unreachable dreams. His Highway to Heaven on a journey back from Dante's Seven Circles of Hell. The candy-coated plague destined to tempt him, then torment him…

 _For the rest of eternity_.

An undefinable, _unmistakable_ magnetism sparked between them each time their eyes met. It flipped all the control Klaus possessed to _stay away, stay far far away_ on its axis, spinning him before her in a reckless-and-impetuous, falling-man-from-the-moon-and-sky descent until he surrendered to her orbit and became an asteroid. Locked forever in her gravity, he longed to crash and burn her hostile steel mantle to dust. All he desired was a chance. Just the briefest flicker of a second to unfurl the rugged secrets and dormant potential she stowed away in her core.

 _"Open up! Let me see who you are. Unravel it all and show me—"_ he yearned to say, the words curdling so hard at the base of his throat he nearly choked, " _show me it all. Everything."_

 _"If you do, I believe I'll discover that which already rattles with truth somewhere inside of me: We Are The Same."_

Some connection herded them together—so close, so strong—that rivets of euphoria zapped down the length of his spine whenever he thought of her. Goosebumps rose along his forearms at each incredulous arch of her brow. With every bump or slight touch she unknowingly grazed across his skin. For any reason at all that she directed a look (it didn't matter what kind) his way. He drank her essence up like air; then poured her all the way in until she filled him up, inch-by-inch.

 _Everywhere_.

Klaus could not outwit this sensation. He could not outmaneuver it.

The fluttering pangs of exhilaration and admiration jolted down—across—throughout—and within him to pervade and penetrate every last resistant pore of indifference that remained in his being, ballooning him full of so much feeling for this one blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sword-tongued beauty of unattainable proportions, that he thought he'd bloody explode before she noticed.

 _EXPLOOODE_.

"Who knew an angel would materialize before my bleary hybrid eyes only to combust my entire _life_ in sunfire with a flick of her halo? _"_ Klaus mused to himself, half aghast and half mesmerized."A mere _flick_!"

But he welcomed her flames.

He dove into them with closed eyes and arms lifted high above his sides, surety etched into the lines of his face as her white-hot sparks swallowed him whole. Caroline roasted him. She roasted him from head-to-toe, through scars and contusions and gaping, black, still-deepening holes—boiling his blood into honey clear through to his soul!

And he didn't care.

He'd let Caroline lick him up until only a tiny fleck of him remained. Let her consume him to the last drop. For it was she, and she alone, who'd charred him back to life.

She'd already set fire to centuries of loneliness, to pain beyond pain; then washed him clean of blood and grime to study the vulnerable planes of Klaus' face that he'd kept tucked away.

 _She sees me._

 _She sees me for_ me _—_

 _Who I once was._

 _Who I am now._

 _Who, one day, I want (but don't yet know_ how _) to be._

It was for all of these reasons and more that the resolve to fortress his feelings shattered and crumbled to ashes at his feet. Melting him of secret wishes, desires, and hopes in multiplying rates of irrationality.

It was how he knew he was screwed.

Absolutely and irrevocably, bloody _screwed_.

 _"_ I'm in love with her," he realized one evening as the sun dipped close to the horizon and tinted the town in molten dusk. He took a sizable swig of bourbon, his lungs failing; sputtering out all the air in which he needed to breathe. "Why I—I've gone and fallen love with her!"

A life forged without her (if he must endure it) would never feel quite satisfactory again, would it?

 _No, it wouldn't._

Everything was different now _._ He'd always covet a heart he'd never fully endeavor to deserve. He'd always be waiting on a woman as elusive as a faerie princess precious few could appreciate, let alone see.

The tectonic plates of his life had shifted forever, and Klaus rode the climbing mountains and swirling sands of change with trembling knees, watching with wide eyes and muted, cracking lips as one brazen girl zipped him open like an old backpack and yanked all the love he once subdued (or worse, disregarded) from the inside… _out_.

 _His love was hers to take._

 _His love was hers to waste._

Klaus would not be selfish with Caroline. Nor would he stifle her, sacrifice her happiness, or impede her choices. He promised himself this.

Klaus would wait until time halted if he must. Counting each falling, granulated second as it ticked by wondering if or when she'd arrive somewhere unexpected sporting a radiant smile and a playful flicker in her ocean eyes—the kind that warmed his chest—to surprise him.

"Stay for a little while," he'd say with a grin, offering her an arm in the old gentlemanly way, "I have no plans. I'm all yours today, and for as long as you want me."

She'd level a look at him. Fight hard not to scoff at his pointed gallantry. "Really now?"

 _Always_.

Klaus could not predict if someday Caroline would grow to consider him a worthy romantic contender, he knew this.

But he sat.

And he wondered.

And he hoped so far beyond hope, he damn-near prayed.

And while he dared not place faith in a deity who may or may not exist, he still leaned back and tilted his chin, exhaling a reverent breath into the sky as he closed his eyes and pressed a palm to his lips; hurtling this one prayer from his hand and into the whooshing winds of Fate with an adoring kiss.

 _Give me love_

 _Give me love like never before_

 _Give me love like her_

One day, he hoped that instead of Caroline ignoring the breeze as it glided past her face, she'd decide to chase after it. And him. Rushing toward all the love he wanted…

…and _waited_ to give.

* * *

 **I didn't originally mean for this to be so reflective in nature, but my imagination had a mind of its own. What did you think? Comments are lovely.**

 **Until next time, thanks so much for reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	27. Rush of Your Black and White Love

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Hello there! Long time no update for this collection, I know. * _hides_ ***

 **Anyway, this is an AH/AU(?) set 5x11 during Klaus and Caroline's romp in the woods, because who knows what else they may or may not have discussed. ;) I don't write smut (as in I'd never tried before this haha) but this idea persisted until I wrote it down, so I hereby deem this my first NSFW piece.** **Enjoy!**

* * *

His lips, soft, supple, and as titillating as Lucifer's himself, breached slope after slope of Caroline's skin, starting behind her earlobe and nibbling along her neck and collarbone, then cascading down her abdomen diagonally until her toes curled; her lungs panting to describe this feeling—to put a name to this hammering, blissful rightness that transcended up and out from the inner reachings of her ribcage. _Oh, God, what was it!? What was it?_ He peppered hints down her arms and across her bare back like a map, his calloused hands grazing across her deftly, smoothly, painting her like he would a goddess: in marble crafted from blue diamond and gold. He moved patiently but coaxingly across her body, almost as if waiting for the realization to ink itself in and shine like a sun that would never fade.

But it didn't. Not yet.

Instead, Caroline's thoughts tore and frayed into dust as another taste from his mouth electrified her veins, making her heart falter…then sway. She curled herself tighter into the fortress of his arms and melded into the universe of moonstars spiraling forward from some place far darker, and far more dazzling, than this dusky yellow day among the trees. With her back arched and her fingers tangling in curls at the nape of his neck, she allowed him to penetrate her like fangs which pierced the most lethal of arteries, welcoming the cinnamon sin of his tongue in places long forbidden to him. She let him lick and linger. She let him kiss and consider. She let him taste and savor. She let him cradle her close—so close that the smooth, salty flavor of darkness settled over them and carried their hearts away to some isolated, suspended space, a space only they shared.

"My God! This is ruin! Irreversible, unavoidable, orgasmic freaking _ruin_!" Caroline exclaimed, her legs hooked and clinging around his waist like a vise, yanking him in harder; deeper. Damp leaves slid and crinkled beneath her shoulder blades, dirtying them and what remained of their tattered clothing, but she was too impassioned to care. "I feel you threading through the marrow of my bones, firing across every nerve I possess; I hear your heartbeat purring my name inside my own head—what magic is this? What madness? What in the hell are you doing, Klaus, turning me into mush?"

"No," he growled with lust as his fangs nipped her right breast and his hands skimmed across the bones of her pelvis, dipping in-between her thighs, "I'm making sure you never forget."

"I won't." She murmured the words, breathless. "I know I won't."

"I intend to haunt your waking dreams, Caroline. I intend to invade your heart like a plague you cannot cure. I want to make sure you never forget the man who riles and ruffles you best, the man who slits you open from skin to skeleton clear through to your soul with one touch, one kiss…with one perfect swerve of his hips. I want to make damn sure you're starved and always missing this, needing it so much you're calling out for me through miles of fog, darkness, city lights, and these torturous passing years we'll spend apart."

"I will be. I—I promise I won't forget this, but…more. I want _more._ Give me more of your love's rush, Klaus," she whimpered and shuddered against his neck, her fingernails digging cursive blood into the muscles of his back, "give it to me, _please_. All of it."

"You can have it, love. Take everything." Klaus pressed his mouth back against her body with urgency as he spoke, his kisses tickling and teasing in places that shot tingles from her ears to her toes, their limbs and skin and scents winding together until there was no separate _her_ or _him_ any longer. Just _them_ , together.

Then his fingers trailed along her hamstring, soft as a feather, only to squeeze into her ass cheek in a sensuous way that made pleasure itself want to scream.

"I'll give you all of it," he breathed into her hair, his stubble scraping against her face, "all of _me_."

"Mmm, why do you feel so wonderful? Like heaven? It's wrong."

"No." His voice was steel, his gaze air-stealing. "It's not."

"No man has kissed me this way before, okay? Hell—" Caroline moaned as they rolled into another luscious position, "no man has _touched_ me this way before. I'm molting…on fire…the flames burning me into feeling more alive than I've dared to imagine possible!"

Klaus stroked his thumb across her chin and his eyes flashed round with intensity, then softened into liquid gold pools. "Good. That means my evil plan is working."

"Curse you for that, you ass, curse you!"

"I think you may be looking at this backwards, sweetheart," he said with a low, rumbling chuckle. "Have you bothered to wonder if perhaps the other men in your life were nothing but _boys_ without the expertise to truly please you?"

"Wow! Full of yourself much, Hybrid Hotstuff?"

"I have another explanation," Klaus said with a pause, "if you're interested."

Caroline rolled her eyes. Scoffed. Then flipped them over so she could bury him, like the naughty old man he was, with forceful thrust after thrust after thrust into the forest floor from her knees.

"F-fine," she gasped as he drew her forward onto his chest and plunged harder to the left, making her stomach quiver, "let's hear it."

"Perhaps…perhaps this is just how it is with us, yes? You, me, us. Together, sweetheart, you and I simply equal rhapsody."

The way he cupped her head like a pearl and tucked stray hair away so he could look into her face, studying everything, all that her expression conveyed, made Caroline feel precious. Exquisite. Cherished. His tormented, tender eyes searched her to memorize every freckle of her nose, to erase any crinkle of doubt on her forehead, to learn each flicker of desire or pleasure as it crawled into the corners of her widening smile.

"Perhaps it's only that I am the one man who inherently understands how you need to be touched and deserved to be treasured with fervent, unquenchable tasting, because the universe designed it that way?" Klaus continued. "Perhaps that's why I feel heat now where once I used to freeze? Because you are my sweet, damning salvation and I—" his shoulders trembled, his words becoming thick and heady, "I am your beautiful, broken _ruination_."

"Hm, and how do you suggest we _solve_ this problem, my ruinous man?"

"There's only one way, I'm afraid." Caroline straddled her palms on either side of his head and looked down at him, waiting, his answer still dangling.

"We must accept it," he said with surety etched and blazing in the lines of his face. "We must accept it and… _give in_."

"Is that so?" She hoisted him up from the ground at this, her head lulling back and her eyes sliding shut, to encircle her arms around his head and press him into her wild, uncensored heartbeat as fear released its taloned hold; inviting him to chomp all the way through her walls as her body relinquished the rest of control to the delicious, damaged man her heart now demanded that all her secrets be shown. "And here I swore to myself I'd loathe you for the rest of eternity! Ha! But I suppose that's all out the window now seeing as I refuse to let you or this ecstasy go," she half-purred, half-panted.

"Elizabeth Bennet once declared eternal hatred for one of her suitors, too, I believe," he replied. "It didn't last for her, so why would you assume it would have for you, Caroline?"

At Klaus' smug and resounding grin which he stifled by pressing a pleased kiss to her lips, Caroline blushed before twisting them sideways. She folded herself against him until they rested chest-to-chest, their breathing labored, and tilted her head to the left to expose the thumping blood in her throat.

"Oh, just shut up and kiss me…bite me…freaking volcanic _erupt_ me!" she begged in a clutching shiver as her mouth brushed along his jawbone.

"Don't mind if I do, love. Don't mind if I do."

Danger swirled with delight and ardor mingled with relish as their hips rocked, bucked, and shifted together long into the moonless night, their movements perfectly attuned to a rhythm of _just the two of us;_ fitting them together like a lock and a key that could never rust. And like the fresh blood evaporating on her tongue, Caroline knew one more taste of him would never be enough. Klaus' loving rush swallowed every last one of her reservations up and pumped her full of his ancient, black and white plush until the words ' _my soul mate'_ marked themselves distinctly and permanently inside not only her heart, but her head.

This was the end and the beginning for both of them—there was no better touch. There was no better shape of love. Falling together forever was better than everything, it was enough.

 ** _"With calloused hands_**

 ** _I tasted_**

 ** _the softness of the moon_**

 _xx_

 ** _in the coldest winds_**

 ** _I discovered my soul's_**

 ** _warmest fireplace_**

 _xx_

 ** _in the roughness_**

 ** _of his stubble_**

 ** _the tenderest of love_**."

— _A Thousand Flamingos_ , Sanober Khan

* * *

 **I tried to highlight more of the intimacy** **rather than the physicality of their frolicking and elected a more figurative approach to describing it as much as possible. At least, I hope it came across that way...?**

 **Comments are welcome. Did you love it? Hate it? Wish I'd never attempted it?** *** _curls into a ball of awkwardness_** *****

 **Thanks so much for reading, lovelies. Your support and encouragement means everything. Until next time. :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	28. Sorry, but Forget-Him-Not

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Short, sweet, and fluffy just in time for Valentine's Day and Luiza's (itsnotacrimetoloveyou) birthday. Happy reading! **

**xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Like always, any gift from Klaus sparkled with diamond meaning and artistry. The evidence of his careful consideration was apparent in everything from the elegant curling of rose and ruby ribbon, to the pristine packaging, to the vivid, aromatic arrangement inside, to the eloquently-phrased card, and to the prompt delivery (which never arrived before or after ten in the morning on the same day each year). Caroline both seethed and lauded at the man's vast resourcefulness— _did it have no boundaries_? _no limitations? was it without end?_ —because he never neglected to provide her with a small, sentimental token on February the 14th… _never._

The present came without fail. Always arriving with a knock or a _dinging_ doorbell followed by a shuffle of fleeing footsteps.

No matter her relationship status, it came.

No matter how human or supernatural her current life pursuits, or how long her history of rebuke after rebuke extended, it came.

No matter her location, it came. No matter her friends' undisguised curiosity or distaste, it came. No matter how evasive or remote, spontaneous or maneuvered, her traipsing around the world proved to be, it came.

No matter if she was alone, or entertaining company, it came.

No matter her lack of acknowledgement of any and all gifts from him over the years that she received…it always, always came.

None of it mattered.

None of it mattered because Klaus Mikaelson, Hybrid Valentine Extraordinaire, continued to unnerve Caroline on the same day…at the same time…in the same way— _every freaking year!_ A gorgeous bouquet of pale blue forget-me-nots tied in an extravagant heart-shaped bow always managed to make it into her possession on this day. Attached was a card, always left unsigned, where he reiterated his graduation-night vow in simple but beautiful verse:

 _A promise once_

 _made_

 _is a promise I_

 _forget-me-NOT_

 _to keep._

 **xx**

 _And so,_

 _when you next_

 _hear_

 _the word_

 _"waiting,"_

 _sweetheart-_

 _I hope you'll_

 _think_

 _of me._

 **xx**

 _Waiting is where_

 _I am,_

 _you see;_

 _and waiting is where_

 _I'll be._

 _Waiting is the realm_

 _in which_

 _I dwell;_

 _and until you_

 _come—_

 _I shall never_

 _leave,_

 _I shall never_

 _set myself_

 _free._

 **xx**

 _I wait_

 _and I wait_

 _and I wait_

 _for the infinity of_

 _you and me_

 _with certainty._

 _Because in the power_

 _of us,_

 _my queen,_

 _I admit I do_

 _believe._

 **xx**

 _But where I am_

 _old,_

 _you are_

 _young;_

 _and from where I am_

 _standing,_

 _you are_

 _moving_

 _in run._

 **xx**

 _Patient,_

 _I know time must allot_

 _freedom_

 _for you_

 _to perceive—_

 _how it is the_

 _promise of_

 _colliding, compatible_

 _hearts,_

 _my love;_

 _I wait for you_

 _(one day)_

 _to seize_.

 **xx**

 _Until then, I wait._

 **xx**

 _I wait for you_

 _in every dream_

 _in every moment_

 _in every breath_

 _of hope_

 _that rushes through_

 _me,_

 _listening_

 _for a sign_

 _of you—_

 _for a timber of_

 _voice_

 _telling me_

 _(at last)_

 _this promise is_

 _complete._

 **xx**

 _Until then, remember me._

 **xx**

 _Until then,_

 _know_

 _these words of mine_

 _are yours to_

 _keep:_

 _from dusk until dawn,_

 _counting time_

 _until stars_

 _dot skies in_

 _yawn,_

 _I wait for you,_

 _Caroline—_

 **xx**

 _In perpetuity._

* * *

After five subsequent years of this steady gifting stream, Caroline felt Klaus' patient yet romantic persistence gnawing away at the defenses in her head, and she couldn't help but wonder: _What part of me will he gnaw away at next? Or worse, conquer?_

As if in answer, her undead heart thumped twice against her breast.

* * *

 **Comments are wonderful. Thanks for reading! xx**


	29. Shine Into Me, Sweetheart

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Inspired by an anon on Tumblr who shared a quote/feels with me about what it would be like when Klaus and Caroline traveled the world together. And all I have to say is * _cries_ * (Set in Paris, France.) I hope you like it. Enjoy! **

* * *

**_"I would like to see the world with you twice. Once, to see the world. Twice, to see the way you see the world."_**

* * *

The light, the light!

How it faded a peachy sunset into the twinkling stars of a serene and fragrant evening, illuminating the gentle waves of River Seine in early spring. How it danced in moonbeams along strands of her fair hair. Against slivers of her skin. Across the pupils of her blue eyes widening with amusement. How it streamed into her smiles despite the wartime tales of Bastille, or the murky limestone depths of catacombs. How it hummed electricity into the art of the Louvre as her bottom lip trembled, too overcome with awe. With delight. How it poured into him deeper with every look. Every touch. Every taste. Every murmur of possibility she bestowed on him without trying. How it glowed from street lamps in charming, muted golds and drew Peter Pan shadows around their feet as they floated down winding cobblestone roads in search of breathtaking gardens or scrumptious cuisine; the pair of them entangled and enchanted like two lovelaced ghosts who could travel the land together forevermore.

The light, the light! The bold and beautiful light!

 _What had he done, what had he done to deserve such a precious gift as this?_

Oh, the way the light torched Klaus' black heart full of _feeling_ every day now, all the time! Oh, the way it—she—had slipped into the pockets of his soul like a lantern to light him _up, up, up_ with an affinity for life! With an insatiable thirst for love and warmth! With a hunger for a bite of her virtuous spice! The brilliancy of everything felt new and fresh again as Caroline gasped at all the French loveliness for the first time then curled back against him with a sigh—her hand pressed over the sensitive place on his chest where she continued to flame and sparkle inside of him without end.

"Isn't this boring for you?" she asked with a tilt of her head, their steps dawdling and their hands intertwining as they neared the Eiffel Tower.

"What?"

" _This_." Caroline gestured around her. "All of the sights. All of the attractions I've dragged you to see. I mean, I assume you've seen Paris many times before (probably throughout countless centuries and during times of Enlightenment, prostitution, or revolutionary wars—especially since I know of your family's tendency to be caught in history's crosshairs), so the city must feel old to you. Nothing special, nothing new. My desire to tour and exclaim over everything must be driving you mad!"

"Quite the opposite, actually."

"Don't lie to me, Klaus," she clipped. "You know I hate that."

He curled an arm around her waist, his wolfish laugh mingling with the gentle kiss he pressed into her hair. "I'm not lying, sweetheart. You're simply wrong is all."

"How?"

"Because I've never seen Paris shine until now."

"In what world?" she baulked. "You're as old as dirt and it's _la Ville Lumiére_ , for crying out loud!"

He shrugged. "The city feels brand new at the moment. _Electric_."

Caroline rolled her eyes, "Now you're just making fun of me."

"Wrong again."

At the sound of Caroline's indignant _pfft,_ Klaus stopped. His jaw clenched as he turned her around to face him, his thumb and index finger lifting her by the chin tenderly until she was forced to look up. Straight into his eyes.

"Look, love, it's no secret that I've been a resident on this planet for a long while," he said, dropping all pretense, "or that I've lived and travelled across Europe many times. I've been here. I've been there. I've been everywhere. I've spent hours and days, weeks and months, and years upon years exploring. I've seen virtually _everything_ there is to see _—_ the whole damn, catastrophically beautiful world in all of its revolving glory—but it means nothing to me. Nothing."

"Don't you understand? Don't you realize what I'm trying to convey?" Her forehead prickled as he sighed and continued, "The point here isn't that I've seen it all already, Caroline…it's that I've never seen it all with _you_ ," he said.

"For the first time, everything in this city is lit from the inside and I'm seeing it all with relish because of the color _you_ have provided. So trust me when I say that anything I'm lucky enough to see _through_ you or share _with_ you is a new and exquisite experience for me, too. You bring everything to life in a way I adore yet cannot define—" stroking her cheek, he leaned in closer "—and that makes all the difference, love."

His voice was low. Soft.

"That makes all the difference in the world."

The light of this Parisian _paradis_ wrapped the two of them in collapsing rays of time in a moment. It was so warm, and so bright, it blinded past, present, and future together until Klaus couldn't tell where Caroline's radiance began, when it ended, or how she'd reflected it all the way through him.

He only knew she had.

She did.

And she continued to do so again and again.

"That's just like you, isn't it?" Caroline said as she snaked her hands around his neck, beaming. She pressed their foreheads together and trailed her fingers along the stubble of his jawline.

"What is?"

"You say things like that and make it _impossible_ for me not to fall more in love with you! It's rude."

"Moot point," Klaus chuckled before capturing her mouth with a kiss, "seeing as I'll always love you more."

"You say that now…" She drew back. And with a look of premeditated glee in her eyes, she hooked her hands around his elbow to tug him with her into the building and said, "Until you realize I'm lugging your hybrid ass to the TOP FLOOR of this tower for a glass of bubbly and some couple photos for Instagram."

* * *

 **Comments are lovely and thanks for reading, lovelies!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	30. Emptied of You

**A/N : Hello lovely readers! It's been a while * _shuffles guiltily_ * but here's my contribution to the KC Vaycay Exchange for the lovely honorableotp. ****It's a post-canon AU (sans Hayley or magical spawn) with a slice of angst and hurt/comfort. (Inspired loosely by "As the Crow Flies" by Sam Palladio and Clare Bowen, which I listened to on repeat for like half of my writing process haha.) Anyway, i** **t took some _serious_ prodding for my brain to get this down on paper, but I did my best even if I am unsatisfied. I hope you like it.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

 **P.S. To the anon who asked for more of my Prime Minister + Queen Caroline AU: Bear with me. I'm working on it. ;)**

* * *

 _"_ ** _You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love_** _."—Letters to Milena, Franz Kafka_

* * *

"Go on and think of me as a she-wolf with a heart made of teeth if it makes you feel better," she said, "I don't care. But I'd do it again."

Jaw taut, Klaus stood at the far end of his en suite balcony with his left hand tucked into his pocket and his right hand holding a drink made of something smooth and glared out at the rising moon, almost wishing his siblings weren't out of town so he could use them as bait. Or shields. Anything to save him from this bleeding hell!

Caroline approached from behind, her boots clicking against stone, conviction resounding louder with every step she took forward.

"Did you hear me? I said I'd do it again."

"Yes," he replied as he emptied his liquor in one swig. He let the glass slip from his fingers to crash down onto the street below. _Ah, such sweet music destruction made_. "Yes, love, I'm sure you would."

"Don't you understand why? Can't you—" Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost trembling, and Klaus tensed as her touch ghosted hesitantly over his shoulders but never made contact. "Won't you at least turn to look at me?" she asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It would be foolish. Reckless as hell."

"Oh." He heard the uncertain shuffle of her feet as he exhaled, the quiet sniff of her nose, and he swore the light she wore around her in aura dimmed for a moment before it shined something warmer but more clutching against his back. He felt that invisible tether between them, tugging, tormenting him like the lash of a whip.

Although it was difficult, he knew he needed to resist falling back toward her again. Klaus swallowed hard, then dropped his head with his fists clenching at his sides, "I'm always soft for you, Caroline, that's the problem," he sighed.

"You're the sun beneath my bloody skin that I can't stop chasing. You're the light zipping through my veins that I can't keep myself from reaching out to try and hold no matter how many times I'm left burning or singed through with holes…and yet you still have the audacity to ask me _why_. Truly?" His laugh was wounded, caustic. "We both know you're smarter than that."

"Tell me, love, why _would_ I be daft enough to turn around," he added, grumbling, "when I know one look at you would melt me directly where I stand?"

"Right," she deflated. "Okay."

He nodded, "I'm glad we understand one another."

She took a step back.

"Of course."

Frustrated, weary, conflicted, and more than tempted to drink away this surprise confrontation with alcohol, he massaged his , after he dragged a hand down his face and closed his eyes in anticipation of her imminent retreat, dreading and desiring it simultaneously, something strange happened: Caroline moved closer. _Lunged_ , truth be told. Her arms snaking around his middle without warning.

A noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh escaped her when she pressed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt and breathed him in. Pulling him close—too close. Reeling him in on that god-awful tether like prey. She melded into him like a solid into a liquid, her heartbeat a frenetic song against the muscles of his back, her tears a tap dance along the exposed skin of his neck, the darkness of separation vanishing beneath the fire of her desperation since she seemed determined to hang from the ladder of his spine. To never let go of it again.

This new proximity to her created a vortex in his chest which cracked like icebones then stitched him up like needleheat. One of his hands slipped near hers of its own volition: hovering but not touching, wanting but not taking.

Klaus couldn't bring himself to fight against her warmth. He couldn't fucking _breathe_.

 _How did this happen_ , he wondered? To armor himself in iron only to be disassembled by a single touch. Why was her embrace a nirvana no mountain of pain could snuff out?

Anger and grief lingered, of course. It proliferated in the air around him, piercing his heart like a storm made of daggers every time he attempted to speak, but not enough of it remained to shrug her off. To break free. In the end, she stuck to him like a lost shadow while he choked on the pleasure of suffering.

"I need to tell you something even if you refuse to look at me," Caroline said in a tone which was equal parts cautious, pleading, and wishful. "Will you let me?"

"I'm listening," he replied.

* * *

Six months ago, Caroline had thrown his name at the dark like a spear and fled. She'd let the bold, broken letters of him bleed from _red_ to _black_ to _gone_ against the fabric of her retreating back, her doubts muffled by the sound of her scurrying feet as she'd taken off with nothing— except a mouthful of forevers.

(Those, as consequence would have it, she'd left unsaid.)

With a lump of cowardice in her throat, plus a mixture of guilt and woe rawing her stomach, Caroline had freaking _run_. Run away from it all.

She'd hastened away from a southern city pulsing with magnetism; its streets crowded, forever bustling, as shouting friends reveled in culture or debauchery. It was a place she knew she'd thrived for the past five years. A place she'd grown to love for its sultry sunset moods, its whispered twilight lovers, and its jazzy saxophone blues which soothed lost or lonely souls beneath the moonlight. It was where cobblestone histories wrote tomes against stones and buildings and people who were too wrapped up in cuisine or celebration to lend an ear, the wind full of forgotten moments. It was where agelessness chimed from chapels, where flowered herbs grew atop graves but never disturbed the consecrated bones.

She'd first tasted the power of possibility there. Yes, Caroline had folded herself into New Orleans' arms with her eyes wide open, her heart neither open nor closed but _eclipsing_ as she'd strolled beneath the eye of her first hurricane to (finally) dance to the tune of dangerous beauty.

Throughout her stay, she'd helped witches set fire to the clouds, the sky purpling with magic that deserved to be returned to their capable hands. She'd schooled vampires on how to fight with control, patience, and fortitude by using their minds as well as their enhanced senses. She'd chewed through the bonds which had chained werewolves to the phases of the moon and had set them free to follow their own feet, all the while encouraging them to stay with smiles which promised mercy. Loyalty. Friendship. Family.

She'd also killed with kindness almost as often as she'd seethed with rage to become a weapon of her own making: gracious, grisly, and great. The city had taught her that true magic sometimes dwelled in shadows beyond the reach of the sun, its black sparks sleeping perhaps, but never dying. And although New Orleans had enchanted her with its ambiguity, Caroline had panicked when she'd realized how exquisitely darkness suited her and had decided to escape before it could claim her completely.

But there was also more to this getaway. Something worse, and, arguably more…problematic. (Borderline reproachful, honestly.) You see, it wasn't just a _what_ she'd fled from, but a _whom._ Plural.

 _The Mikaelsons_.

Rebekah, Kol, Freya, Elijah, and Marcel, who, with their offerings of blood, censure, teasing, bickering, and protectiveness, had come to regard her as kin (with a 'double-cross-me-and-I- _will_ -stab-you' kind of attachment, of course, but whatever), indulging her with things like a a room of her own, beignets, excellent booze, bitching, arguing, broken furniture, and headaches for days. They'd welcomed her as one of them with fangs and fists, with trust and reliance. Not only had they fought with her side-by-side to bring peace back to New Orleans, but they'd also managed to find time to initiate her into their (ridiculously) dysfunctional family tribe. That meant Caroline had participated in everything from Thursday night sing-offs with Kol and Marcel to screaming matches with Rebekah over 'borrowed' shoes, and from French Quarter 'suit' business with Elijah, to discreet matchmaking for Freya, to swanky parties with costumes, and to refereeing over presumed family betrayals.

It had been absolutely freaking _exhausting_ at the time, and, yet, weirdly… enjoyable, too.

All that said, Caroline had left them all behind. Deserted them all without warning. She'd left no crumbs for them to follow, no allusions as to where or when she could be reached again. No explanations as to why. She'd done nothing but tuck this short, half-assed note between the pages of Elijah's favorite Mozart symphony before strolling out the front door:

 _I'll already be gone by the time you read this. Off somewhere on my own. I promise I'm safe so it's no use coming after me, especially considering I learned how to disappear from Katherine. Stay put, do your thing. Know I don't want to be found._

 _Don't kill each other, okay? I'll miss you._

 _—Caroline_

 _P.S. Tell him I'm sorry, but my heart's a wandering thing._

Yes, she'd run from, him, too. (Run from him most, probably.)

 _Klaus_.

She'd abandoned the tortured, tender man who unapologetically bulldozed every damn wall she'd tried to erect between them since their worlds first collided back in Mystic Falls. A man who, when he wasn't shoving her out of her comfort zone (and on her ass), or driving her _mental_ with his arrogance, cynicism, jealousy, paranoia, temper tantrums, etc. would scrape the pits of heaven or hell to give her anything she desired. Everything. Oh, how he would _kill_ to kiss his dynasty of night beneath her skin! How he would _die_ to feel her soul finally sink into his with a wolf's bite, clutching almost possessively! How brutally _bad_ he wanted this "thing" between them to last!

Despite his patience and how he'd never prodded for more than she gave him, however, Caroline could feel that one unfulfilled hope of his growing hungrier and hungrier with need the longer she'd stayed. Intensity had rippled from Klaus like a soft, shimmering shadow. It'd stretched out like it wanted nothing more than to caress the monsters free from her head, and she'd watched as it clouded over his face with worry and disappointment each time she'd retracted, pulling away from him and into herself. Tucking her monsters into coffins he couldn't penetrate.

"Please, why won't you let me?" he'd seemed to ask without speaking, his eyes searching, his touch digging gingerly for skeletons he couldn't find. "Why won't you let me in to comfort you? We're the same, you and I, _we're the same_."

His wishes thumped. They'd sparked beneath his chest with a fire that melted into honey each time their eyes met or their limbs had tangled beneath the sheets until morning. Like a hummingbird, he'd hovered. He'd waited, and waited endlessly, for her to invite him all the way in so he could entomb his lovelines somewhere precious and warm around her heart where they would keep. Wanting only to know he belonged to her in a way that tackled levity and uncertainty for good.

But all Caroline had for him at the time were little half-smiles. And lips that half-kissed. And forever dreams that half-existed. And fears which had compounded into restlessness so strong and so irresistible, they'd ushered her away from him with no farewell spoken between them.

It had been unbelievably cruel to do that, not say goodbye, selfish even, but that word always tasted like rubber in her mouth any time she'd tried to say it to him in the past—wrong somehow. So she'd kept silent. She'd let it crash and burn in the blackness behind her while she'd chased the sunrise alone.

In the end, the colors of dawn had streamed in through that still-misty window to grip Caroline by the soul. They'd stirred her to her feet as a message had ribboned through her bones, pleading for her to heed it:

 _Seek._

 _Find._

 _Learn._

 _Know._

 _Go on now. Go, go…_

And she had. She did.

* * *

"I left to hunt the light," Caroline announced after clearing her throat.

"The light?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "I followed it in order to see where it led…to explore places I never knew I needed to see."

"Without me." Klaus meant it as a question but it came out blunt and flat. Like the period at the end of a lazy sentence.

"Yes," Caroline said, exhaling slowly, "without you."

"With no forewarning, no parting line?"

"Yes."

Klaus frowned. Repressed the urge to mutter something about her ' _tiresome bloody explanations_ ' by scraping his knuckles across his lips. "Why? Why couldn't you have at least tried talking to me about it first?"

"Because I…because I couldn't."

"Why?" he repeated.

"There was so much blood between us, Klaus! It was everywhere, it was in _everything_ ," Caroline said, each syllable fraying his confusion into disillusionment, "rushing so hard and clumping so deep that most of the time I couldn't tell where the hell you ended and where I began. We were bound by blood in too many ways, you and me, and I didn't want to see it, okay? I didn't want to know it. I was so—"

"Ah, I see," he interjected. He stiffened when he perceived her intended meaning: so soft but puncturing, so honest but injurious. It caused him to razor his reply with more sharpness than wryness, "And I suppose you're saying it's too _messy_ for your liking, right? That my past atrocities have stained too much of your life for you to have been able to stay or truly care for me?"

"What?"

"Really, sweetheart," he continued in that brusque, callous way of his that made a laugh sound diseased, "I thought you'd shoulder guilt better than this by now. You should've saved yourself the expense of a trip back here because—"

"Stop."

"It's fine. Go." He waved her away. "I understand."

Using her fingernails like a vise, Caroline clamped down hard on his elbows before he could break free to sulk. Or worse, to tear into an innocent throat. Tension plucked between them like pliant tendons refusing to snap. It stretched his thoughts in so many different directions he couldn't weave them together in a manner which made sense or didn't ache from the strain.

"My God, why are you so freaking infuriating!?" she asked, probably rolling her eyes. "You can't survive without hearing the sound of your own voice for five seconds so you jump to conclusions before you give me a chance to finish speaking! I can't take it!"

"Perhaps you should've stayed away then." He hated how bitter and waxy the retort tasted on his tongue, how hollow it sounded as it left his mouth, but he said it anyway.

"I have tried, Klaus! _Believe me_ ," Caroline snorted weakly, her voice resigned to some emotion he couldn't decipher, "I have tried long and hard to stay away from you. Do you have any damn idea how much time and energy I've wasted trying to keep myself from crashing into the truth?"

A jolt of something old and familiar fired across his chest at this. He inclined his head to the side ever so slightly, ears burning. What was it? What was she saying?

"I mean, not only did I baulk at princess bracelets and shred horse drawings, but I spent months in Mystic Falls being bitchy and hostile and mean. I hurled insult after insult at your face! I told myself one romp in the woods would be enough to get you out of my system. I helped my friends devise ways to kill you, remained with Stefan despite knowing he'd always put his brother and Elena before me, swallowed all of my cares for your family, for New Orleans, and cursed when the universe saw straight through my charade."

"Writing off our connection as 'no biggie' for years," she paced behind him, "I tried to deny. Ignore. Forget. And push it all away. I've wanted to believe that we, _us_ , were casual and not meant to be more so I snipped the dark from my heart. I sprinted after the light because I thought it's where I belonged."

Klaus gulped, his throat dry and rough all of a sudden. "And is it?"

"I know I've been awful, hurtful beyond words," Caroline continued, "and I'm sorry. I'm so _so_ sorry, Klaus…" She paused for a moment. Collected another breath before reaching out to touch him again with tender trailing fingertips, "But I can't do it anymore, okay? I can't."

"Do what?" he said.

She sighed heavily. "Pretend."

"Pretend…what?" Confusion, so many conflicting thoughts, galloped in his head.

"That I can endure a life emptied of you," Caroline offered simply, "because I can't. I _won't_." In an effort to somehow illustrate this point further, she shook her head, letting her forehead roll back-and-forth along his shoulder. "Am I making myself clear yet?"

"And your wandering heart?" Klaus asked as he scratched his teeth along his bottom lip and remembered the pain that line from her letter had wrought. Recalling the overwhelming sense of loss that'd slammed into his chest like a skyscraper full of bricks, his knees nearly shuddered as the memory hit him afresh.

He'd sensed her hesitancy toward commitment throughout their five years together, of course, but he thought it'd give way with a little more time as a couple. Months, years, decades, centuries—who cared precisely when? He'd been in no rush. He'd believed her nomadic feelings were bound to settle eventually. Or perhaps it would've been more accurate to say he'd ' _naively hoped_ ' they would. That is, until she took off with her fucking wanderlust and had left his heart to rot without her. "What of that? Hm?"

"It wandered away so it could drift back. Back to where it's belonged all along," Caroline answered.

"I suppose you mean here?"

"I do. Only I was too stubborn to see it. Terrified, really."

"How illuminating. So after all this, after everything," Klaus started, his tone harsh, "you expect me to forget the torment of losing you? Forget how you left me feeling both drowned and deprived at the same time?"

"No," she replied, "I don't. All I'm asking is for you all to try and forgive me enough so I can care for you like I couldn't before."

"Oh?" he clenched, his back still turned to her, his heart pumping loud and red with a yearning just at the edge of a bruise."And how's that exactly?"

"Recklessly. Completely."

Klaus bit back a scornful sound. All of his undead fears pricking, poking, prodding at the shreds of hope which still survived in a small area behind his ribs. "Why should I believe you?"

"Maybe because I've never lied to you before, so why would I start now? Or maybe because I needed to leave," she sucked in a breath, "for my heart to know home was more than a place for me, and that I'd want to find my way back to it for good someday soon."

Stepping closer, Caroline folded her hand into his then twined their fingers together with a squeeze so ripe with feeling, that it was as if she'd crossed the world just to hold it again.

"I'm done making wrong turns, Klaus. No more running, no more careless mistakes. Home is forever now, okay?"

"Home for me is…" She paused, but there was no shame in what came next, no irony. "Well, _you_ ," she said frankly.

 _One_. _Two_. _Three_ seconds of hybrid defibrillation. Then—

A growl which disintegrated into a moan almost immediately. His head spinning, spiraling, his stomach lurching up into his throat only to plummet down through the ground past his toes to feast on disbelief. Fists of fury unraveled like rope, his posture softening the moment he pulled her in front of him and caged her between his arms against the railing with no way out. She would listen now.

"Damn you," he blurted out.

Silence.

"How in _hell_ do you always manage to say things that have me dying to kiss you when I should want nothing more than to tear you apart with fangs?"

Caroline shrugged then. Reached up a hand to cup his face.

"Sorry, but it's not like I can help that I'm in love with you, you know? Besides," she added with a twitch of her lips, thumb scratching along stubble, "it all comes out in moron supposedly, anyway. Or so they say."

Trounced, conquered, and not to mention a tad stunned, Klaus raked over her face with a combination of anger and attention in his gaze at this. He drank her in like the starved beast he was while the knife of her words—which she'd never spoken before but were ones he'd longed to hear for many years past—twisted and turned inside of him, slicing deeper this time, making him pant because he still hungered for the blade of her mouth. Still coveted the spikes of her heart. He always had. And in that moment when he pulled her against him to let their mouths and bodies collide, shutting her up hard and fast, her love's blood seeping in to fill up all the places she'd emptied inside of him six months ago, magicking the two of them back together like a dawn-kissed midnight which could bloody well last forever, the poor bastard knew he always would.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Comments are lovely.**


	31. Newly Arrived But Yours

**A/N** : **Some mini-drabbles for you today. This first one's a trifle I found collecting dust on my computer that I wrote not long after the TVD finale and never expanded upon. Not my best, but I hope you like it regardless. :)**

* * *

Five. Klaus signed over custody of his heart in five letters of one small word.

Though no easy feat, in those brief but significant letters he'd done the unfathomable and relinquished control of an emotion he no longer cared to withhold, scrawling it out in crisp block-shaped capitals so she could read it plainly. Distinctly. He made sure to keep his expression simple, too, so she would not dare to mistake its meaning. He contracted it out with neither pretense nor embellishment, but with a marked subtlety that pressed like a pen tip into a piece of parchment and scribbled out a lease in black permanent ink:

 _YOURS_

"Yes, love," he chuckled to himself as he nearly kissed a stamp into the righthand corner of an envelope housing a three million dollar check, "I've truly kinged myself in waiting pursuit. _However long it takes_."

* * *

Enlightening.

Powerful.

Puncturing.

Hopeful.

Unnerving in any number of ways.

Caroline scratched hard at the riverbed of veins beneath her skin where these eruptive feelings first sunk themselves in at age seventeen like fangs, and remained. They'd mutated and multiplied over time without detection. Changing her subtly, transforming her completely—almost deceiving her into thinking them gone one day. And gone for good. Why, she'd considered herself _free_! She'd genuinely _believed_ she'd shredded him into deader-than-dead scraps with that damn horse drawing at the Bitter Ball. She'd sincerely _thought_ she deleted him from both her present and her foreseeable future, and that she'd done so effectively.

In her mind, Caroline had declared any and all allure for him to be fleeting…long gone for many years now. She'd moved on. Pursued new goals and desires. Explored new aspects of herself as a mother, as a lover, as a vampire. She'd erased the _we are the same_ tattoo chalk he'd tried to draw around them in infinity circlets during those early days in Mystic Falls, convincing herself time and distance away had severed that unnameable link between them, that no feathers-yearning-to-be-Hybrid-ruffled remained.

In her heart, however, and much to her chagrin, feelings for Klaus had lingered. Persisted. Like forgotten shadows, they'd spent years hibernating in concealed corners and cramped chambers inside of her waiting tacitly for the day they'd burst back out like a bleeding waterfall, refusing to be shunned or silenced. No longer capable of being swept back into arteries which overflowed with his name. And sure enough, with a smile and a spritz or two of perfume on a lovely sheet of stationary ( _thanks Elle Woods!_ ), that day soon came with an answering letter of her own:

 _Klaus,_

 _I couldn't bring myself to knock. It left too much room for uncertainty, so I sent this ahead of me by proxy._

 _By the way, not that I'm at all surprised, but I think your New Orleans minion prefers doing me favors over picking up your_ _"evil villain" dry cleaning—(I can't believe you weren't joking about that! You're awful. I mean—_ seriously?! _)—but that's probably because I asked for his assistance with a smile while you most likely growled._

 _Speaking of the poor kid, go easy on Josh for me, okay? He was accommodating in my hour of scheming and I like his innocent spunk. Plus, I kind of told him you weren't_ always _as miserable or as vicious as you like to come across to people, and I'll be_ pissed _if you make a liar out of me. Consider yourself warned!_

 _Anyway, back to why I wrote you in the first place: Prudence._

 _You see, I did my best to guarantee you'd be the first Mikaelson to greet me in the city you love so much. I figured I owed you that one small courtesy after all this waiting. So…_

 _What do you think? Would you care to come outside and split some of these delicious beignets with me? I'm more than happy to share. Besides, let's be real, we both know you've been dying_ _to "Hello love" me again for YEARS._

 _Here's your big chance, Wolf Charming. (Feeling smug yet?), I'm in town!_

 _Your Newly-Arrived Someday,_

 _Caroline_

 _(P.S. Did I mention I'm currently at the end of your street? On a bench? With a biiig 'ol Hybrid Welcome space open next to me? xoxo)_

* * *

 ** _Comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!_**

 ** _xx Ashlee Bree_**


	32. A Nip of Her Lips

**A/N : This second mini-drabble made it's way through the Klaroline fandom on Tumblr as a sort of fic prompt and I'm glad I was asked to participate. It's based on that silly "deleted kiss" scene from 4x07. * _cries because I'll forever want the actual footage_ * Here's my interpretation of what could've happened. **

**(Also, if you haven't yet, you should totally check out the other drabbles on Tumblr. Not only are they all fantastic but it's fun reading how other people imagine the "what if" scenario.)**

 **Enjoy, lovelies.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Klaus blamed hummingbirds for this. The bloody beasts flapping and fluttering inside of him when they shouldn't exist—when he _knew_ he'd slaughtered them all dead. (Except here they were again. Phoenixed back into birds by a girl who somehow raised them a second life from the black ashes in his chest.) Why could he not stay back? How could he not stay put?

 _What was the meaning of this_?

The damn things ushered him forward without permission as she lunged for her Miss Mystic application and giggled, wind from their wings flying thoughts straight out of his head to drift him closer with hunger, so that, like a wolf, he could bite the nectar free from her lips with a kiss. _Yes_. Just one soft, swift kiss would be enough to finish it all—to kill this sweet thrumming behind his ribs for good because she wouldn't respond. She wouldn't let his tongue slide in to meet hers in waltz if only for a moment; there was no way she would part her mouth wide enough to give those pesky birds any more air or sky in which to thrive…

 _But then she did_.

Klaus' breath hitched and Caroline's face flushed beneath his scratching thumb the moment her bottom lip slipped down like a lowering drawbridge to bestow him with a trifle of reciprocation. The slit she offered him in return was small, slight, and quick, mind you, but it was there. It happened. Catching them both off guard.

It surged those blasted hummingbirds into a deafening hymn that refused to die inside of him and the poor wretch was submerged in the middle before he realized what she'd done.

" _Excuse you_ ," Caroline recovered with a shove against his chest, her body trembling with a mixture of surprise and horror (plus something else she didn't dare to define), "but what the _hell_ do you think you're doing? Are you insane!?"

"It was an impulse, love."

"An IMPULSE?"

"My apologies," he bowed in mock reply.

Her fingers poked at the buttons of his dress shirt. "Kissing me shouldn't be an impulse you have today. Got it, mister?"

"Not today, huh?" She narrowed her eyes. "Okay," Klaus hummed, "I'll take that specific request under advisement."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" she scoffed.

Klaus shrugged, a smirk dancing across his face as he leaned in to whisper one last thing before he left her alone to marinate, "It means I'm patient, sweetheart. I'll wait for _you_ to kiss _me_ next time."

"Ha! In your hybrid dreams maybe," Caroline huffed over her shoulder in reply, wiping off his lingering kiss and stomping away, "but I'll never kiss you in real time. Not willingly, anyway."

Oh, but he'd tasted the lie. She'd kiss him again alright. _Yes, she would_. Someday…

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, and comment if you'd like. Until next time. :)**


	33. A Lady's Tongue Is Quite Rapid

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : For Day 1 of Klaroline AU Week, I bring you a Pride and Prejudice fusion. I'm an avid Austen/P&P lover so I feel like this was inevitable at some point? Also, quite a few of you have suggested that I write one in the past and I found myself unable to resist the temptation any longer haha. I took some liberties in characterization and plot, but I think they make for a unique twist. I hope you like it. :)**

* * *

In a small town like Mysticton, to engage in gossip about one's neighbors was a sport of sorts. It meant that, much like fencing, no one was exempted from a sparring strike which could expose some truth about his/her disposition or reputation to the rest of the villagers. No one.

In fact, it was of little consequence to the surrounding residents as to what, or where, or about whom this 'sharing' included so long as the topic was titillating, the person was some combination of scandalous or mysterious, and the discussion was breached artfully: with tact, with sophistication. Such a practice was allowed in trifles - encouraged, rather - but only so far as it did not tread upon common decency. After all, there was nothing more impudent to members of respectable society than rudeness or vulgarity.

Since the English valued propriety above all, it was an unspoken rule amongst them, therefore, that gossip was to be whispered and never trumpeted. It was meant to be censored not flaunted. It mattered not whether folks were from the city or the country, nor from what class or rank from which they hailed, but that they knew best _how_ and _when_ to be inconspicuous. And none in this world of manners, as it happened, commandeered the art of whispering more effectively than the fairer sex.

(Most of the time, anyway.)

—

"Come now, Caroline," Miss Katherine trilled from the edge of her wine glass, her mouth cut in a minx-like expression, "you cannot deny the striking set of his features with that rough, angular jawline. And how about those eyes so blue and cavernous, they could trap a girl in the dark forever? He's quite delectable in a way, would you not agree?"

The other young lady smoothed a loose blonde curl against her temple.

"Handsome or not, a man who offers nothing but snarling personality at first sight holds no charms for me. We'd never suit. Besides," she said with a cluck, "I find his snobbery almost unendurable."

"Now, now, don't cast him off so readily."

"Why ever not? You know how much stock I place on early impressions."

"Firstly, he's rich and titled. Secondly, he knows how to strut in a pair of tailored breeches. And thirdly," Katherine continued while Miss Forbes rolled her eyes, "not all of us are who we appear to be among people we don't know well. Though you're loath to believe it, friend, he may prove to be much more intriguing than you suspect at present."

"You cannot be serious?"

"Ah, except I am." Her fingers tapped along the wall behind her, her expression clouding, her thoughts drifting away dreamily, "Perhaps he's emotionally withdrawn for good reason?" she proposed.

A sneer. "Conceited, unsociable, and taciturn for no reason, you mean!"

Katherine leveled a look at her companion, her lips compressed from want of laughter at this vehement outburst.

"Why, I don't believe I've known you to chide anyone so disparagingly in my life! If I didn't know better, I'd say this fellow has sunk his teeth beneath your skin to hit a discordant vein you find oddly compelling."

"That is absurd," Caroline said.

"Is it?" Miss Pierce's tone was suggestive, stoking her companion's composure enough that she gaped and colored.

"Yes!" Crossing her arms defensively, Miss Caroline turned up her nose when she met Katherine's eye, her cheeks burning hot with indignation. "I'll have you know I find his incense and irritable nature entirely unbecoming. I can hardly stand the man!"

"Careful, love," a lilting voice cut in.

Large hands skimmed across the waist of her dress then, lingering for a moment too long. Fingers tapped in and out of the royal blue creases that stretched against her lower back. It made her gooseflesh pimple. Breath tickled hot near her ear as a slender blond man in a evergreen waistcoat slipped from his post in a hidden doorway to make his way past her and back toward the fray. "I'm afraid my temper's flared for a lot less censure than that," he said.

"Wha—I—how dare you not make yourself known, sir!"

He turned. Arched an eyebrow.

"And interrupt all the salacious gossip? Why, that would have been rude," he parried, lips twitching.

"Then what, pray tell, do you call insinuating yourself into an intimate discourse that never included you in the first place?" Caroline crossed her arms and scoffed. "Etiquette?"

"Hardly."

"Then what, sir? Illuminate me. Please," she gestured at him flippantly, "I beg of you."

"Clever," he answered. His eyes livened into two round, gold disks as he took in her flustered countenance, as he discerned the contempt in her balled fists. "I'd call engaging with you clever, Miss Caroline."

He dimpled slightly when he pronounced her name, drawing out the syllables. Next, after he gave a gallant bow which bordered on goading, he left the two of them to ruminate over his last remark and rejoined his family members who perched before the large arched windows in the center of the ballroom.

Caroline huffed.

So she'd ' _barely tolerable'd_ ' a near stranger with an indiscreet slip of the tongue. And what? Was she expected to skulk to a nearby corner, her face blotched with color; aghast, humiliated, and regretful? Was she supposed to apologize for her uncouth remarks all because the indignant fool - a man whom had refused to be properly acquainted with _any_ of the ladies in town since he'd first arrived, by the way, herself included - decided to loiter in the shadows and eavesdrop on a private conversation she'd conducted with her dearest friend, Katherine, in a secluded corner of the room? _Ha_. She wouldn't stoop low enough to give him the satisfaction!

Besides, what she'd said was the truth. Not gossip. As far as she was concerned, he and that stormy smirk of his earned spite from this entire ballroom full of people. Deserved it, too! _The smug, insufferable man._

Katherine let out a puff of air. "Well, that was…"

"Inexcusable!" Miss Forbes finished for her. "Can you believe the gall of that sneering Mr.—Mr. whatever his name is!?"

"I find him refreshing."

"Oh, please!"

"What?"

"He is so not a gentleman."

"And?"

Nonplussed, Caroline sucked in a breath and pressed a gloved palm to her head, shaking it. Katherine rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't act so scandalized," she said. "There are enough droll poppycocks among us in Hertfordshire as it is. We are not in want of another."

"And that somehow makes a louse like him preferable company? Sorry," she said with a dismissive laugh, "but I beg to differ."

Ignoring this by slinking her elbow around Caroline's, Miss Pierce cut them free of their temporary wallflower status and navigated them back through the throngs of people toward the edge of the dance floor in the hopes she could claw one of them, if not both, a spare partner.

"Anyway, who wants a gentleman tonight in the off chance you can dangle yourself from one of _him_ instead?" she said with a bump of her hip and a grin toward a dark-haired gentleman adorned in militia red and brass buttons.

Caroline sighed. "Are good looks and dancing all that matter to you this evening? Or does that requirement extend to the securing of a future husband as well?"

"Good fortune factors into my marriage prospects, too, dearest. We mustn't forget that," her friend winked, taking the officer's hand to join the reel, "especially with these Moneybag Mikaelsons in town."

"What nonsensical prattle you do speak, Kat!"

"Nonsense, wit…" she purred, "such a fine line, Care." Then, with a punctuated twirl, she disappeared into a sea of couples.

Caroline flourished her friend with a wave of adieu interspersed with a head-shaking smile before she moved to fetch herself a fresh glass of wine, her feet in need of a rest plus a little something to dull the ache. Relief flooded through her at the prospect of a few minutes alone to admire the party's splendor. And to reflect.

Personally, though she refrained from sharing this information out loud in an effort to avoid her mother's ' _what will become of you_ ' hysterics, she wished the entire family would deposit themselves and their moneybags back in London for good. Leaving their little country town with its quaint manners and civilities in peace.

The truth was simple: the Mikaelson's arrival had thrown the entire village into uproar!For, not only were they in possession of profound wealth, rank, and prestige as well as in ownership of Evermoore (one of the oldest, most well-established estates in all of England), but four of the seven of siblings - three gentlemen and one lady - were single and of marriageable age; and, moreover, were either already established in esteemed professions or set to inherit thousands of pounds. As a result of this, every last eligible suitor in the county schemed and clamored all over themselves for an opportunity to woo. Some of them resorting to flattery so absurd, and so heinously insincere, Caroline baulked at their desperate displays.

And all for what? The vain hope they could, perhaps, by some miraculous design of stupidity or frivolity, procure themselves an advantageous marriage?

It was completely and absolutely insane! Asinine, really.

She wanted no part in this courting circus. Not for her, and certainly not for her beloved town.

It was half past time for the Mikaelsons to leave—but not because she disliked them or anything. On the contrary. In fact, amid a month's worth of acquaintance, she'd found them to be stimulating company.

Admiral Kol Mikaelson, the youngest son once removed, boasted the most open temperament of his siblings and captivated society with a mischievous good humor. His dark eyes were forever crinkled, drunk off amusement; and his conversation was as inviting and as pleasing as the proffered hand he gave Miss Bonnie Bennett when he asked her to ' _teach [him] the steps of a country quadrille_ ' after a game of whist his first night there. He was the idlest of the bunch, however, and chose to scour the seas not for pirates but for ports (the more clandestine and egregious the better). Fond of drink, gaiety, and women, he travelled the world with his ship's sails raised in search of adventure and entertainment, teasing his way from land to land.

He laughed heartily, danced readily, and drank heavily. Indulgence and spontaneity were the tenets he lived by—the pleasures of the world made to be worn thin by his gluttony. With a gambler's spirit, he infected those around him with a reckless flurry of activity they either gravitated toward or shunned completely.

Colonel Elijah Mikaelson, too, was sophisticated, courteous, and fashionable. He held himself with an honorable grace befitting of a second-born son and gentleman. Albeit, at times, in part because of his military background, his stoicism was a little intimidating. He had a tendency to pepper his dialogue with curt, off-hand remarks that tumbled wryly, frostily, from his mouth. It caused some folks to label him wrongly as impassive; where in truth, he was simply guarded in expressions of sensibility. A compassionate warmth blazed behind his eyes if one knew where to look, softening him considerably. And although he seemed less than inclined to partake in silliness, he had a shrewd mind which made him both approachable and engaging, his penchant for musical skill as fine-tuned as a violinist's tightened orchestra strings.

Unlike her elder brothers, however, Miss Rebekah Mikaelson, the youngest save ten-year-old Henrik, was a bit more prickly around the edges. Pampered as well. She was not intrinsically disagreeable in any regard, mind you, but patronizing in a superficial way: like she was sizing up a potential threat or an eventually ally with tip-toed caution any time she formed a new acquaintance. Therefore, until people provided her with either a cause to smile, or to snarl, she treated them all with the same detached disdain. Letting only the deserving in to relish her playful attentions and amity.

Beauty favored her as well. It manifested in the form of fair, silky tresses and creamy sun-kissed skin; in adornments of all the latest fashions: rich, heavy silks swaying from her hips, necklines stitched in fragile lace or beaded embellishments, dazzling jewels which were purchased from merchants abroad; and in sapphire eyes which coquetted almost as often as they puddled with insecurity. Her heart she wore outside of herself like an accessory that was much too easy to abscond. However, that being said, it colored her love in a ferocious, uninhibited kind of faithfulness that was endearing to anyone fortunate enough to receive it.

All in all, Miss Caroline found the unattached siblings to be rather intriguing. Almost liked them even…

Except for _him_ , of course. Mr. Niklaus Mikaelson. The pompous, leering, annoyingly attractive middle son who rarely spoke but scrutinized everything and everyone around him by glaring - and by glaring incessantly.

Hawkishly, he watched Caroline from the darkest of corners of any room. His gaze was always moored, unrelenting; his jaw ticking along with each new flaw he recognized in her.

 _Ugh! Talk about the epitome of miserable_!

She frankly marveled at how he'd managed to survive in respectable society this long. Moreover, she puzzled over why young ladies like Miss Aurora and Miss Camille seemed more apt than not to swoon at his feet despite his clipped replies and his blatant disregard for their fluttering eyelashes, coy smiles, squeaked threads of conversation, and contrived performances which were meant to impress him with their moderate accomplishments. His indifference rolled off him in rivets. Almost palpably. Yet, still, they paddled before him like swans who believed he'd help them fly out of their ugly duckling ponds. Only…

That would never happen.

With the first born male of the family, Finn, devoting his life to the church and Elijah swearing his fealty to the military and the war effort shortly thereafter, Niklaus (or Klaus as he preferred to be addressed) had assumed the role as Evermoore's heir after his parents' tragic death five years ago. While it was commendable that he'd achieved greater affluence for his family since then, rumors of a volatile father-son relationship, mood swings, and ruthlessness in business clung to him like wisps of shadow. Couple that with his grumbling intensity plus his refusal to mingle with any ' _common savages_ ' in either conversation or dance since he'd come to Mysticton, and the man's character shouldn't have faired well under public scrutiny.

' _Shouldn't have'_ being the operative words.

The fact of the matter was this: Mr. Mikaelson was an eligible commodity.

People everywhere tittered about his callous and formidable demeanor behind his back, only to then flatter him in person with manufactured compliments and fraudulent smiles. They powdered their noses, performed quartets, bowed, curtsied, and stood for hours by his side while he deafened them with protracted silence or scorn. Every single of them were nothing but gawking hypocrites with ' _thirty thousand a year!_ ' spinning in their eyes and minds. It was truly appalling.

And while Caroline supposed money and prestige held sway with a lot of single females, it was disgraceful how many of them excused his defects entirely. Ignored them, really.

Did they not have any self-respect? Any dignity? Did they not understand how no woman on earth would be good enough for such a self-important gentleman? Could they not comprehend that he was far too haughty, far too supercilious, to care about anything except the well-bred capital lining his pockets?

Caroline pitied them, truthfully. As a result, she promised herself she'd follow her own impeccable judgments where such a person was concerned. Her eyes were open, her mind made up:

A man like that would never be worth her time. Never!

"If you value your modesty, I'd advise you to scratch Mr. Damon Salvatore from your dance card indefinitely," Miss Rebekah _humphed_ as she plopped down next to Caroline on the settee, ruffled in air. It broke her introspection. "The lout has sly, wandering hands, and believe me, it troubles him not to use them."

"In my defense, I tried to caution you about him."

"Yes. And like the obstinate fool I am, I ignored you."

"I'm sure you had good reason for that," Miss Caroline said, shrugging.

"Hardly." The lady snickered. "I simply assumed you meant to discourage me so you could ensnare him for yourself."

A full-bodied laugh. A pat of a gloved hand.

"Good heavens, no! Why on earth would you think such a ridiculous thing?"

"Trust, confidence…" Miss Rebekah sighed, "it's not something I extend easily to those outside of my family."

Caroline nodded, her mouth soft and somber. She was a little surprised by such an admission, but appreciated the lady's candor.

"Wariness is not unknown to me, Miss Mikaelson," she replied feelingly. "Unfortunately, I, too, have been duped or disappointed by acquaintances in the past. It is not something I aim to repeat, either."

A look of commiseration and understanding passed between them as Miss Rebekah scooted nearer to gossip, "Miss Gilbert ended her courtship with Mr. Salvatore recently. Did you know?" she asked.

"I was aware of that, yes."

"I," her companion explained, grimacing at herself, "mistakenly, took pity on him. She's engaged to his brother now, as I understand it, and he's quite heartbroken over the situation."

"I'm sure."

"However," her countenance hardened, "that in no way entitles him to assault his dance partner so inappropriately!" Caroline concurred with a nod. "Ugh, what poor breeding!"

"Yes…well, Mr. Salvatore's always been a bit of a rascal in my opinion," she declared with a shudder, remembering his untoward advances at a coming out ball a few seasons ago. It was an uncomfortable experience which had ended only when Caroline had 'accidentally _'_ crashed him into a footman carrying a tray of hot tea while they danced a Scotch reel. "I never could vouch for him."

"I dare say, what an interesting assortment of individuals this one carriage town of yours boasts, Miss Forbes." The words filled the air with unveiled repugnance, and she needn't shift to see to whom they belonged. "Wouldn't you say, sister?" the gentleman added provokingly.

"Some are unpolished, to be sure, Nik, but most people here in Mysticton are agreeable enough."

"I suppose so."

His tone implied otherwise, however, causing Caroline's stomach to churn and her mouth to purse. _Hateful man_!

"Shall I find a way to dispose of the eldest Salvatore's lecherous fingers? Inconspicuously, of course," Mr. Mikaelson offered as an afterthought. He sidled next to them looking like a vigilante ready to duel. Not with pistols, either, but with a blunt broadsword.

"Not a wholly unappealing offer," his sister said, considering the inducement, "but unnecessary."

"I'm inclined to disagree."

"He's a cockroach, Nik," Miss Mikaelson yawned, smoothing the lavender fabric of her skirt absentmindedly. "He's a bug too lowly to avoid the crunch of retaliatory female feet at some point in the not too distant future."

She gestured conspiratorially at her companion and smiled, "At any rate, I trust Miss Caroline and I will be among the first two in line. Won't we?"

"Yes, but…" Mr. Mikaelson dangled, his frustrations marrying with the small hope the ladies would yield. It gave him the aspect of a caged hawk. "I assure you'd it'd be my _honor_ to eliminate such a scoundrel from our midst."

Miss Caroline piped in then with a twitch of her lips, her countenance lively yet derisive as challenge ignited the air between them like a wick, "Honor," she said, "or pleasure?"

"Can it not be both?"

"I believe that depends."

"On what, might I ask?"

"The gentleman in question."

"I see," Mr. Mikaelson mused. He scratched his chin looking a combination of offended and intrigued. "And what if the gentleman who stands before you now only aims to save you and his darling sister? Neither one of you should be subjected to Mr. Salvatore's lewd unpleasantness in the future."

She appraised him cooly, her lips dancing along the rim of her glass, "My, my, aren't we chivalrous."

"Is that a crime, love?"

"No. No, I assure you I find it an admirable quality in anyone, sir."

"But?" He smirked. "Forgive me, but I sense one."

Readying her wit like a knife, considering her next maneuver, Caroline let her fingers drum along the glass's stem while she sipped the last of her wine. Then, setting it on the table beside the settee, she stood.

"But," she replied, her posture straightening, "it sounds as if brawls are more preferable to you than balls, Mr. Mikaelson. Would you care to enlighten me as to why that may be?" She fluttered her eyelashes, masking her tone with innocence. "I admit I'd be most interested to hear your explanation."

"Oh, I'm afraid my brother infinitely prefers fighting to flirting," Miss Rebekah supplied for him with an affectionate giggle. "I fear he's much more adept at closing his fists or stomping offenders into the dirt than he is at opening his lips to converse with people in a ballroom."

"Singular. Most singular, indeed," Caroline said.

Altering his posture by inclining his head to the left slightly, Mr. Mikaelson's gaze flicked to her face with acuteness. His eyes, normally a detached ice blue, liquified into a more active hue when they looked upon her, curiosity and intensity rolling into them like waves on a choppy sea. "Singular, you say, miss?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Not—" a pause; one finger tapping on his lips as he sounded out the next word with prolonged consideration "—ungentlemanly?" he said.

Miss Caroline clasped her hands together daintily. Offered him a tight-lipped smile.

 _The cad_.

If he meant to disarm her composure by alluding to those uncensored comments she divulged to Katherine about him earlier, then he'd be sorely disappointed. Her stubbornness rose every time this imperious man attempted to make her look or feel foolish, and she regretted not a single word she'd let slip about him in disapproval. Not. One.

Roguishly attractive though he may be, she would set herself apart from her swooning peers. She'd show him precisely how little his money, his status, or his title, mattered. She'd douse him in the ugly truths he deserved, not in the pretty lies he often received.

Therefore, after Captain Lorenzo St. John approached from the other side of the room and bowed, claiming her her hand with a kiss; and moments before he escorted her through the next dance with pleasure, Miss Caroline halted to thumb down one of Klaus' lapels. She leaned in close to his ear, whispering something only he would hear,

"If he glares like a brute and grunts like a brute," she simpered, her tone light but pointed, "then perhaps he is a brute. Just one who attempts to disguise himself in prim and fancy coattails."

"You certainly have a low opinion of me, Miss Forbes," he said, her fingers slipping away. "I aim to change that."

She bit back a caustic laugh.

"Trust me, you won't."

He disappeared back into another dark corner after that, his pride satisfactorily wounded. He refrained from speaking to her, or to anyone else, for the rest of the night.

His eyes, however, they followed her through the rest of the assembly with a fierce watchfulness that burnt like cigarette butts against Caroline's back. Making it possible to ignore, perhaps, but not to forget his presence.

* * *

 **Comments are lovely. Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. Until next time.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	34. I Hate You, I Hate You Not

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : For Day 2 Adversaries. ****Let me preface this by saying that I have a strong, visceral reaction to the phrase "I hate you" when it's exchanged between either fictional characters or real people, but I used it purposefully here. (Social Media AU + Texting + High School AU)** **All dialogue. Short. Mostly crack but gets a little angsty toward the end? Maybe? * _hides_ ***

 **Happy late birthday, Alicea!**

 **Enjoy. :)**

* * *

 **Caroline** : I hate you, by the way. HATE you.

 **Klaus** : Gee, what a heartwarming message. I'm flattered. Truly.

 **Klaus** : It's an honor to be loathed by you.

 **Klaus** : [ _inserts gif of a king bowing_ ]

 **Caroline** : Please. Like you have the audacity to be offended after what you did.

 **Klaus** : I beg your pardon, love, but I'm _more_ than offended.

 **Klaus** : I feel bruised.

 **Klaus** : Betrayed.

 **Klaus** : Brokennn.

 **Caroline** : The heartless hybrid serial dater has "feelings" now? Really? * _laughing emoji_ * * _clapping emoji_ * Give me a damn break!

 **Klaus** : My poor, wretched, miserable heart—you've cut it out. Stomped it dead.

 **Klaus** : I'm empty and exposed!

 **Klaus** : * _music note emoji_ * How will….how will my heart go on? * _music note emoj_ i*

 **Caroline** : Celine Dion? Seriously?

 **Klaus** : What? Not a fan?

 **Klaus** : That's a shame considering I assumed you loved _Titanic_. Truth be told, I had you pegged as a Kate and Leo lover.

 **Caroline** : Ugh! See! This is why I can't stand you!

 **Caroline** : You're obnoxious af…you take nothing seriously whatsoever…you—you freaking irritate me _constantly_!

 **Klaus** : * _thumbs up emoji_ *

 **Caroline** : You royally suck, Klaus. And I hate, hate, _hate_ you!

 **Caroline** : Like…have I made myself clear yet?

 **Klaus** : * _thumbs up emoji_ *

 **Caroline** : Omg, will you stop being such a passive aggressive ass?

 **Klaus** : Um…I'm not?

 **Caroline** : You are.

 **Klaus** : Am not.

 **Caroline** : Are too!

 **Caroline** : Like wtf. Why can't you just answer me properly?

 **Klaus** : I'm sorry, but that _was_ an answer, sweetheart. One of many, in fact.

 **Caroline** : No, it was a thumb.

 **Klaus** : Well, technically, it was a thumbs up. But—hey, who am I to nit-pick?

 **Caroline** : * _unamused emoji_ *

 **Caroline** : Just assure me (in words) that you understand how much I despise you. Okay? That's all I ask.

 **Klaus** : Oh, for fuck's sake. How asinine.

 **Caroline** : Do it.

 **Klaus** : No.

 **Caroline** : Please?

 **Klaus** : * _glaring emoji_ *

 **Klaus** : Fine. I've surmised as much from your daily dagger stares, your 'accidental' elbows-to-my-gut, your "cheat off me and you _will_ -die" remarks in history, and your perpetual (but failing) attempts to keep me at arm's length. Okay, Caroline? Satisfied?

 **Caroline** : Very. Thank you.

 **Klaus** : I'm also glad you've taken the time to spell out your disgust for me in such ugly, flagrant language tonight. I mean—finally! You've been holding back for too long.

 **Klaus** : Bless you for finding the courage to be pointedly and genuinely _mean_ after all this time. Bravo!

 **Klaus** : [ _inserts Etta James 'At Last' vine which loops those 2 words over and over again]_

 **Caroline** : And you wonder why I think you're an ass…smh

 **Klaus** : Just remember it was Lockwood who dropped you for that bayou bitch two weeks ago, alright? Not me.

 **Caroline** : OMG.

 **Caroline** : You bastard! How dare you bring him into this!?

 **Klaus** : He's a choice idiot, if you'll permit to say so. Didn't know what he had.

 **Caroline** : This has absolutely nothing to do with him! Nothing.

 **Klaus** : Stop lying to yourself, Caroline. This has everything to do with him. You feel guilty and ashamed…but why?

 **Klaus** : Tell me why.

 **Klaus**. Go on. I dare you.

 **Caroline** : Shut up, shut up!

 **Caroline** : You provoking, presumptuous ass!

 **Caroline** : There's only one thing I care to say to you, okay? Just one thing you deserve to hear from me…

 **Klaus** : * _talk to the hand emoji_ *

 **Klaus** : Let me stop you right there before you say something else you're bound to regret.

 **Caroline** : Pfft. Coward.

 **Caroline** : You're only afraid to hear what I have to say.

 **Klaus** : Trust me, I've heard plenty from you this evening as it is.

 **Caroline** : Wtf. It's like you're implying I'm hiding behind words or something?

 **Klaus** : Well?

 **Klaus** : Aren't you?

 **Caroline** : * _glaring emoji_ *

 **Klaus** : Look, 'hate' is a strong word—that's all I'm saying. Throwing it around callously is not only unwise but unfeeling, love, and the only reason I've let it slide tonight is because you're angry, hurt, and confused.

 **Klaus** : Also, I know you don't mean it. You're simply…ah, what's the word?

 **Klaus** : Processing.

 **Caroline** : * _middle finger emoji*_

 **Klaus** : * _smirking emoji_ *

 **Caroline** : Maybe I do mean it. Ever think of that, smarty pants?

 **Klaus** : You don't.

 **Caroline** : I do!

 **Klaus** : No. You don't.

 **Caroline** : And how the hell would you know, huh?

 **Klaus** : Because.

 **Caroline** : Because _what_? Did you take a page from Edward Cullen and somehow acquire the ability to mind-read during this conversation?

 **Klaus** : No, I just know you don't hate me.

 **Caroline** : How?

 **Klaus** : Because you kissed me back.

* * *

 **This idea sprang out of nowhere yesterday, but it just wouldn't be AU week if I didn't contribute at least ONE ridiculous drabble, right? :-p**

 **Comments are lovely. Thanks for reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	35. Fill Me With Your Kissing Death

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : For Day 5 Mythology and Creatures. (Hades + Persephone AU) It reads a little bit like a myth/fairy tale. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I did my best. I hope you like it. Enjoy. :)**

* * *

Long ago, back in the days when wolves still trotted and crouched low in her honeysuckle eyes, hungry for something with no name but afraid to prowl too close to the surface of desire, midnight rose like a chariot from a tomb to tickle the soles of Caroline's feet. It tilled the earth. Exposed her lampshaded dreams like cartilage. Snapped denial against her two bony kneecaps until she screamed out the letters of her own fate. The rattle roar of ghosts she'd long refused to know stepped out from graves beneath her skin. They zipped into her throat with ease because they were no longer shunned for their shouts which demanded wicked mercy; they were no longer lonely. Cracking open the dual riot in her heart.

Midnight vined her through with darkness pronged in hush. All of that guileless power licking love into old scars until they felt jagged and whole again instead of split open and dripping red with shame. It happened at a time when hunting for blood was deemed wrong for any spring darling because ' _sunlight should be enough to fill up anyone who's been blessed with a green raindrop touch_ '; but also in a moment when Caroline could no longer crush the wildness inside. That part of her desperate to grow thorns from her thumbs…that part _dying_ to poison herself with the freedom to _seethe_.

She'd grown weary of lying. She'd grown so _sick_ of pretending to flourish in a half-life where she spent all her time courted only by the warmth of the sun. For what of the moon? Or of the knifing feeling of night as it's swallowed like ice through the lungs of the guilty?

What about the withering of seeds after August's multitude of sins have sucked out all the colors except grey and black? How about the rickety quiet of branches swaying somberly because they've paid for their crimes in crumpled brown leaves? Why should it be so wrong, Caroline wondered, yet feel so right, to harness Nature's brutal tools? Why should it be so terrible to bury the weediest of weeds back beneath the dirt where they belonged?

What if— _what if it wasn't_?

Stunted, that's how she felt. Stuck _._

Her head spun and spun in clouds too bright. Her chest heaved, gasping for a squall that tasted of swords and teeth and sweat instead of a rain scented in pinks.

Deep down, Caroline craved transformation and piquancy because she knew she needed more room to cultivate the dueling extremes the gods had planted inside of her. She needed a different kind of garden. One that'd accommodate her bloom-wilting, shiver-burning, rain-droughting ways because the pleasure to shine wasn't enough anymore.

The sun felt muted.

One-dimensional.

Uninspired.

Warmth was too tepid, too predictable…

 _It would never fill her up_. _It would never be enough._

Caroline needed nightfall, too. She needed fog and shadows and obscurity. She needed the enigma of the moon with its various phases and cratered multiplicity.

She required the chill of the wind's tendrils scraping through her bones with a whistle which wakened to widen the marrow, fattening her full of vigor and vice. She wanted the heaviness of souls to press down and burden her shoulders with questions. With emotion. With finality. She wanted penance for sins to blister across skin like ivy because sometimes suffering was payment, because sometimes suffering was the only justice.

She craved the flavor of revenge sliding through her teeth, along her gums, and she longed for it to boil and bake and brew in her blood without guilt before erupting to penalize the deserving with pain.

 _She wanted everything_ —she was _over_ feeling half-enough.

 _Done_.

Yes, the time had come to seek sanctuary for the defiant aconite seeds which were frozen in her gut. Caroline needed to nourish them in deeper soil where both she, and they, could come into their own and _thrive._ The time had come for her fear to fall. For her fists to rise. For the hollowed-out roots of her spring-stasis life to be pruned and snipped away for good so only her punishing purple petals survived.

And so, as a flock of bluebird-ravens wreathed 'round her head chirping a song about beautiful wraiths, the squishing grass between her toes sounding less and less like a place she yearned to call home, she approached the Forest of Forgotten Age with determined footsteps and ambition to claimed what she was owed.

"I know who I am," she said, "and I choose power. I choose instinct. I choose to chase after the missing pieces I still need."

Caroline followed the stars, the eerie wood before her sparkling with serendipity, with eventuality.

A horn sounded when she passed through a bouldered gate as if to confirm that she'd left spring behind for good and had finally found the leafless ground where she was meant to be. Lowering her head, kissing the bundled green stems she carried in her hands, she knelt before the enchanted Unseen Tree to plant her dandelion offering like a wish. She waited for Mr. Midnight himself to come. She waited for him to convey her over the threshold and into the undulating world below, sweeping her into the black magic of moonlight like a bride.

"Touch me, I am ready to burn," she recited in a whisper. "Take me, I am ready to turn. Teach me how to command my extremes, and I am yours to adore in the realm you rule beneath my earth-sodden feet."

"Like a Sun Queen who falls to kiss the horizon each and every night, I want both light and dark in my life," she went on. "I need a world where both blood and mercy collide, where love still wins but hate's a battlecry."

Her heartbeat was as percussive as a clang of bone on obsidian.

"It's why only a hybrid home like the Deadlands can shelter me. It's why only _you_ can stop time to take me in—saving me, enriching me."

Her narcissus soul was ablaze with hope, with hunger. Veins pulsated, thick and green and bulbous, in the whites of her eyes until they looked almost black.

"I appeal to you, King Klaus, Kindred of the Damned. Save me with your killing breath; fill me with your kissing death," she said feelingly, her fingers clawing into the molten dirt like talons. "Please, free me from this half-lived hell!"

The ground cracked under Caroline's muddy palms as she spoke.

Blades of grass parted like a greasy cowlick to reveal a black mouth where a blanket of green used to be. Through the cracked lips, a whisper of smoke snaked left then right before reaching up and out to handcuff her wrists in silk; thumbing a path up her arms, along her ivory neck, across her apple'd cheeks. It caressed her sweetly, possessively, tickling her skin as it encircled her head like a crown.

The smoke feathered across her forehead, its edges thinning until they were no wider than an eyelash that could prick its way inside softly and open her mind to a land of bone and snow, of flame and ghosts, and of thorns which curled and swooped to form dead rose bush thrones. It wove white lily skulls under her skin. It galloped images of cobalt castles made of glass, fire-breathing horses, silver chariots, and scepters stained in ichor, through her thoughts. It rolled mint under her tongue to give her a taste of the Deadlands' crisp power.

Then slowly, smoothly, the smoke pulled back and let her go. Like a vanishing serpent, it sunk back beneath the chasmed ground from where it sprang, leaving her with nothing except memories of grandeur, yearning, and a small trifle which rested atop the dirt like a stone.

Round, thick, juicy, and rich with color, the object glistened at Caroline like a weeping ruby and hummed a kind of skeleton melody. The music called to her; it beckoned. And before she knew it, she'd plunged her arm into the center of the Unseen Tree's trunk and closed her hand around it, squeezing.

"I'm all yours now. And you—you are all mine. But the Deadlands?" she said as she plucked the item loose with a tug and raised it into the air. "I'm afraid _that_ you'll have to learn how to share."

Lowering Death's forbidden fruit to her mouth then, she bit into it hard. Her canines pierced the frostbitten rind with a smile that sliced as she added, "Say hello to your new Queen of Midnight."

It was in that moment, and with that one bite where she was able to savor Free Will's taste as it spilled across the blade of her tongue, dripping endless Time down her chin, that Caroline not only swallowed an entire kingdom of riches and ruin, but also a destiny that'd open her pomegranate heart to the wonders of the dark. And to Klaus. For, in him, she found not a god, but a mate who filled her half-empty parts with a violent love that would never die.

And _the rest_ , as they say, _was history._

* * *

 **There was supposed to be a Klaus POV part to this, but I ran out of time. If ya'll are interested, let me know and I'll finish it and post it at a later date.**

 **Comments are wonderful. Thanks for reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	36. A Kiss For All Seasons (Part 1)

**AUTHOR'S** **NOTE : For Day 6 Canon-ish. This is the first part of an intended 4-shot that I'm calling "A Kiss For All Seasons." (I'll post it as its own story once I finish the other parts.) B** **asically, my idea is to craft some kind of Klaroline kiss moment/scene for each season of the year and also to show Klaus and Caroline at various stages of their relationship. I started thinking about how Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall all have a different look or feel about them, and I thought that would be fun to explore thematically and emotionally with Klaroline. Plus, it'd give me an excuse to play with seasonal imagery haha.**

 **Anyway, the first part is Winter. It's canon until Liz's death, (but I've ignored all things Steroline). Angst. Loss. Hurt and Comfort.**

 **I hope you like it. :)**

* * *

 **Part 1:**

 **Fold Into Me, Shivering**

—

Winter's kiss wisps across her forehead at a time of shivering delirium and despair.

—

 _She's gone_.

It's not a dream because each breath _in_ tastes metallic and rough, because each breath _out_ rattles and hisses like a dented whiffle ball which has sunk beneath sediment and drowned in the shallowest of streams. It's real life. It's real loss, too. And real loss throbs.

It breaks—tearing, cracking, pulling, shattering, rupturing, wrenching a person into angles so painful or contradictory, that life itself feels distorted. It plunges emotions into a vise that's so unbearable and inescapable at times, it almost feels impossible to still be alive let alone be expected to stand.

Or talk.

Or move.

Or think.

Or cry without wiping at eyes and waiting to find blood puddled on fingertips instead of tears.

At times, grief even makes it difficult to _exist_.

After someone dies, especially if you loved that person, the world begins to clutter in a way it never did before: it pinches in at the sides so all the noise can spill in unheard, unseen, clouding your mind and chest with smog that refuses to lift so you can breathe easy again. Everything becomes drenched in the blacks and purples and blues of a bruise, too, until there's nothing left for us to do but crash to our knees. Until all we can do is shrink inside our gloomy new reality and burn our lung's raw with missing.

In Caroline's case, icicles splinter across her chest whenever she blinks against the harsh whites of morning to relive the tragedy all over again.

 _Mommy._

 _Mommy._

 _Mommy._

Instead of Liz's death providing her with comfort or relief now that she's no longer suffering, the unfair and untimely permanence of loss hollows her out until she's raw—numb—freezing. The air around her tastes as toxic and as gritty lead. The din of life, which was once so variable and mellifluous and exhilarating to her ears, rings like television static in her head now. Blurring one minute of monotonous agony into the next without end. More than that, the rising sun in the distance (the same one that used to stream vivid, happy yellows through her window every morning), is far too weak or indirect to do anything besides snake across her moistened cheeks with it pale rays before it leaves her cold and dejected again.

Caroline's parentless now. Alone. She's still loved by a few friends, of course, but she feels so incredibly, unbelievably, disconnected from them all.

She's more or less invisible. A ghost.

 _None of them see me. None of them know what I need._

She's a ghost girl stuck in this endless life on her own: more hollow than haunted, more sorry and solitary than surviving. She's an undead warrior on the outside, perhaps, but she's all but a living, feeling woman shriveling into pieces of nothing within.

" _Please don't leave me,_ " her body trembles, the words scraping and shrieking inside her own mind as pain paralyzes them in place so they can't slip down, so they can't vault out from her throat. _"I need you, Mommy, I still need you…_ "

But Liz is no longer there to answer. She has taken her last breath, has spoken her last goodbye.

There's no one here who cares for Caroline unconditionally now…no one else who listens. There's no one around to hold her hand, to kiss away her nightmares, to kill her insecurities so she can fulfill her dreams. There's no one left who loves her in ' _alls_ ' instead of ' _somes'—_ no one _._

 _How could leave me like this, Mommy? How?_

Eyes dark-circled with sorrow and exhaustion, Caroline lies curled on one side of her mother's bed with her knees hugged to her middle. She never stirs; she never sleeps. She stares out the paned window at a February sunrise obscured by indigo snowflakes that drip from the clouds like sleeted tears that the winter needs to cry. Fresh powder bleaches the ground and builds mounds so high they touch the trees, bending branches until they snap like broken rubber bands, burying all sounds of life beneath it except for the _squawk_ of a nearby crow.

In places where the sky meets the horizon, bleak plums, grays, navies, and ivories scratch the edges of Caroline's vision and almost make her long for blindness. The world outside as stark and as bone-chilling as the nightmare gnawing her apart on the inside:

 _Mom died, Mom's DEAD._

 _But she can't be gone, she…no! Mom? Mommy, where are you?_

 _Mommy I—please stay. I need you to stay, okay? I'm not ready to live in a world without you. I—not yet._

 _It's too soon, it's too soon!_

 _Mom?_

 _MOMMY!?_

Shadows scuttle along the walls. The floors. The furniture. Speckling her room like pox of rotting melancholy, they seem to grow larger and more formidable with each tick of the clock on the wall, their black edges curving into sharp spindly fingers that slice at entering streaks of light like a sword; their trunks expanding to root into corners as if they refuse to timber away.

Caroline, however, makes neither a move to halt their proliferation in her room nor to purge them from the space. Instead, she watches with blinking apathy as one detaches from the doorjamb at the far end of the room like a silky talon and crawls closer. It almost glides across the floor.

How will the shadow consume her, she wonders? With a bite? With a few nibbles? Or will it gulp her down whole and damn her to its full belly of despair, plummeting her into a pit of darkness with no end?

She watches as the shadow drifts forward with a slow yet assured grace. Its movements are cautious. Soundless except for the stray floorboard which creaks when it edges along the foot of the bed and crosses into streaks of daylight, exchanging shadow for skin, swapping an ' _it_ ' for a ' _him,_ ' as a man stoops to kneel beside her head.

This isn't just any man, though.

 _Oh, no_.

But one with eyes that are rimmed in lightning yellow. One who smells of cedar and cognac and cologne. Tastes of oranges dipped in rust. Touches with hands made of calloused buttercups. And snaps necks for sport.

He's someone who charms a crowd with dimples and drawled threats before he strikes swiftly, and completely. He's a wolf who's determined to paint away his personal miseries with other's blood. This is a man who often stars in Caroline's dreams, and his face is one she not only recognizes, but knows—

 _Intimately_.

"Kl-Klaus? Is that…is that really you?" she croaks uncertainly.

"It is."

Dizzy, disbelieving, greens and blonds and brown leathers all swirl together in front of her, so she rubs at her puffy eyes then squints harder at the blurred shape of him. Her next words come out more froggy and weak than questioning.

"You came back. You're—here," Caroline says with a puff of breath. "You're back in…back in Mystic Falls?"

"I am."

"But I didn't call or—no…no texts were sent?" He nods in confirmation of this, which puzzles her further. "You couldn't have known that she—and the funeral? No _way_ could you have been there because I, because I never…"

"Wait a minute," her brows pinch, heavy lids lifting slowly to his face, "did you…did you break into the house?"

Klaus compresses his lips together, shrugs at her sheepishly. Caroline responds to this by smashing her face into her pillow with a groan and an agitated ' _un-freaking-believable_.' Then, in one swift movement, she throws the blankets over top of her and rolls over flat. Onto her back.

"Don't be angry with me, love."

She snorts. Pulls the covers higher.

"I realize my relationship with my family is dysfunctional at best," he tries cautiously, his voice dipping low, "but I do have experience in parental loss. I know what it's like. How it feels. The way it cuts you and—" she crosses her arms, holds her breath "—burns."

Caroline cringes and squeezes her arms tight like she's holding herself together.

"I only worried on your behalf because I know how deeply you cared for the sheriff, so I trailed you home…lingering outside in case you bolted with no reference to your humanity because I didn't want you to do anything rash you'd regret later. I just, I wanted to keep you safe and protected. To…help you avoid any extra pain."

"It wasn't until you screamed that I couldn't—it didn't seem right to—not when you sounded so—how could I not look in?"

He pauses for a moment. Clears his throat, cracks his knuckles.

"Anyway, I thought you might be in want a friend," he offers placatingly, pressing his palms flat against the sheets so he can lean forward a bit and hover above her. "Someone to be a shoulder. A punching bag. A hand for you to squeeze. Whatever…" his voice wobbles uncomfortably, "whatever it is you need."

"And what if what I need is for you to, you know," she swallows hard, " _get the hell out_?"

"Then I'll go, Caroline."

She tuts but it lacks bite. "Go where? Back outside to hide behind more snow until I snap?"

Resigned, almost as if he'd expected this kind of reaction, he draws back with a small hiss like he's been stung, "No," he answers cooly, his words heavy and flat, "I'll do as you bid and head home. To Louisiana."

The air between them becomes stagnant. Oppressive all of a sudden.

"You mean you'll leave me here?"

"Yes."

"Alone?" she asks.

"If that's what you wish," he sighs, "then yes."

"Oh."

Time seems to slow here, silence stretching and growing like a beanstalk weed between their two bodies. Klaus plucks at a mattress spring with his thumb, its notes sharp and discordant underneath her back as he stands to pivot on his heels, readying himself to glide back into the shadows from whence he came. Leaving her alone in Mystic Falls again, setting her free like he promised two years ago.

Caroline hears him shrug his arms into his jacket with a grunt. Or maybe it's a growl? A _humph_? Regardless of the noise he makes, there seems to be a sluggish dereliction to his movements. A hesitancy to proceed. And it's probably because he's preparing himself for the long trek through miles upon miles of snow that'll weigh him down like ice before he reaches New Orleans. All of that slush waiting to seep in, hoping to blacken his toes…

He's more than likely dreading the sound of orange embers crunching into snowy ashes beneath his feet as he retreats from her warm hearth and stomps out through the door again. He probably loathes the idea of submerging himself into a frigid morning all because she's almost commanded him to go. Leave.

 _To go off on his own and freeze like me._

At the thought, a fresh chill kisses the back of Caroline's neck. It momentarily anesthetizes her lungs and she cannot breathe; she cannot think. She cannot feel anything except the frostbite which pricks down low, too low, and buries itself somewhere below skin deep.

The whole world shifts inside her own head again as arctic wind gusts across a few remaining fragments of coziness: of old memories tinged pink with brandy smiles or marshmallow'd cheeks, of scarved hopes for the future knitted in bright, pretty patterns, of rich caroled dreams hummed sweetly into ears with full-bodied meaning, of soft painter's hands which curled over top of stupid fears or desires like mittens to ease her shuddering, warming her to the bone. All of them slipping away on a sled she's about to let crash straight through the North Pole so they may never resurface again.

Except how could she bear it? How could she survive the barrenness without them, all the cruelty? How could she find the strength to keep breathing after she lets one final sliver of warmth slip away because she's bitter and hurting and broken? Where would her optimistic flames entomb themselves? In permafrost? In tundra? In icebergs crowding the sea?

Deep-down, Caroline knows that one biting word from her would silence Klaus for good. One more dismissive statement is all it would take to send him back to New Orleans where he belongs, thereby freeing her up to mope in this room forever. There'd be no more judgment to combat from him, no more concern. But to what end?

So her mouth can match the blue which has settled in around her heart since her mom passed away? So she can shudder harder at the falling flakes of grey and white which accumulate outside her window and aim to bury her beneath centuries of unrelenting snow? So life's color can leak and harshen until it's nothing more than a dead block of ice for her to kick?

 _As if winter isn't teeth-chattering enough already_!

Licking her lips, Caroline exhales before she slides the blanket down the bridge of nose enough to peek up at him. She rakes over his consternated expression. She watches when his body stiffens and squares in preparation of her next words. It's as if he's waiting for a dismissal to scythe through the air and lash him up.

"Okay, and what if—" she gulps, her voice dry and a little muffled. "What if I say I don't want to be alone in this room right now? What then?"

Klaus' eyes widen, hope spilling into their depths. But only for a second. A scratch of his chin followed by one, two, blinks and it sinks back into his pupils like an illusion. Like it was never there.

"I'll make sure you aren't. You won't be, if that's what you desire," he says simply.

"And if I cry?"

He shrugs. "Then you cry."

"I think I'm out of tissues."

"You can use my clean sleeve then. I'm sure it'll do just fine," he offers drily.

She quirks an eyebrow. Shoots him a dubious look.

"What? I'm not allergic to tears, Caroline, for Christ's sake." He rolls his eyes. Wanders closer again. "Not immune to them either, unfortunately, if that's what troubles you," he adds under his breath.

Dragging a desk chair behind him, he erects it near her bedside table with a flick of his wrist. And sits.

"But you're allergic to me, is that it?"

When he opens his mouth to respond only to slam it shut, puzzled, she gestures nonchalantly and says, "You can sit next to me on the bed, Klaus. There's more than enough room for two, you know. It's not like I think you have cooties or anything."

Scooting over and up, she pats the open area with her hand. He doesn't move.

"Well, come on then!" she tries again, less sarcastically this time. "Take off your shoes so you can climb in here. It's drafty."

After a few more seconds of gawking silence, Caroline, feeling both tired and fed up, rolls her eyes before she launches herself onto her knees to grab him by the hand, forcibly tugging him down onto the sheets beside her—shoes be damned!

They crash back against the pillows intertwined: Klaus' arm braced 'round her shoulders to cushion the fall; her nose scraping the lapels of his jacket. Her chin bangs against his clavicle and they tumble into the headboard cuddling. It's an accident, of course, but one that feels comfortable. Oddly natural, too. And instead of shrugging him off or pushing him back so she can erect an elaborate pillow fort between them like she ordinarily would, she veers from expectation and tradition by throwing the blanket over his legs.

Next, she curls into the crook of his neck. Rests a hand in the center of his chest. Exhales. And thaws against his side as she listens to the rush of his ancient heartbeat, feeling it thrum through her own bones like this lullaby:

' _Hold me close; hold me tight; and everything else will be alright,_ '

Klaus initially tenses at the intimate contact. Afraid to move a muscle in case she changes her mind or wants to pull away, probably.

When she doesn't, he relaxes. One hand drops atop the one of hers already on his chest while the other fingers silky tresses near her ear, plucking them strand by strand so they fall back against her sweatshirt with a sweet _tap tap_. His mouth also teases the crown of her head. It hovers close enough for her to feel each tickle of his breath against her skin, but remains far enough away that she misses the softness of his lips.

Sliding down lower onto the mattress, he kicks his shoes off onto the floor, lets a foot hook around her ankle, then folds her tighter into the furnace of his arms.

"I must say," he murmurs against her hair, "a _literal_ pillow is the last thing I expected to be for you today."

"It's only because I'm cold. February sucks and I miss my mom, okay? Don't read too much into it."

"Whatever you say, love."

"Oh, shut up, will you? I can hear your smirk from here," Caroline huffs into his shirt.

"Ah, sweet, sweet proximity." Klaus sighs contentedly. "It's half the battle, truth be told."

"Ugh! You're so exhausting."

"I don't see why," he answers wryly, "it's not as if I'm complaining."

"No, but I know what you're thinking."

"Perhaps you do," he hums in that assured, taunting way of his, "but you can't fault me for being more than willing to comfort you given the chance." His fingers draw soothing circles on her back. "So, if body heat is what you need from me right now, then fine—take every last ounce of mine and zip yourself up in it. Wrap it around you like a duvet, because it's all yours."

"Suuure," Caroline drawls sleepily. She yawns. "Until I accidentally elbow you in the nose once I fall asleep, you mean."

"No. I'm here and I won't leave you. Not even if you make me bleed," Klaus says, all pretense gone.

"Oh, you and your ridiculous promises. I swear!"

He responds to this with a low chuckle. It soon flattens into something more weighted and measured when he draws her in to deposit a sweet, earnest kiss across her forehead.

"Ridiculous or not, sweetheart, the promises I make to you I do and _will_ keep. You can count on that," he adds in a whisper. "You can count on _me_."

Emotion clogs her throat at this; stings the corners of her eyes.

It's right at that moment, with Klaus' firm and unshakable finality, and his body spooned around her, that Caroline feels a ring of fire spring to life around her heart, thawing her all the way through with hope and waking her up to one devastatingly beautiful enormity: he's the one person left who's always wanted to be there for her. And he isn't going anywhere. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a hundred more lifetimes.

"I guess we'll have to wait and see about that, won't we?" she shivers, cuddling closer and melding into his warmth.

"Don't worry, love. Time is on our side." She feels Klaus' lips tug upward in smile. They sweep across her forehead again in kiss, but this time, they deliver promise as well as comfort, "We will."

* * *

 **This one gave me _loads_ of trouble, but I tried. * _shrugs_ * **

**Comments are lovely. Thanks for reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	37. Hark! The Marriage Bells Ring

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is one of those not-planned-at-all, curse-the-KC-edit-feels mini-drabbles that assaulted me without warning today? The lovely Kylie (thecuteoneishere on Tumblr) made an absolutely GORGEOUS Klaroline Marriage Endgame edit for Day 2 of 25 Days of Klaroline that left me emotionally wrecked yet so inspired I couldn't. help. myself. **

**(P.S. I promise I'm working on the other parts for my t.b.c drabbles from AU Week, y'all.)**

 **Anyway, here's a little 'Klaroline goin' to the chapel and gonna get married' blurb. It starts out with a little bit more of a detached narrator for something different and is unbelievably fluffy. I hope you like it. :)**

* * *

What an elegant and enviable affair Klaus and Caroline's wedding would be…

Imagine the stunning tiara meant only for the woman who was fit to be Klaus' queen, and the sweet ivory rose that'd be placed on the cushion of each seat to thank every honored guest for attending. Picture a cathedral draped in silks and bows and glittering golds. Think of a sunset's orange and violet glow as a lacy train unfolded behind Caroline like a petal, her blonde waves flecked in beads of hope and coming starlight, her tulle skirt swinging like a church bell with every step closer she took toward the fidgety, tuxedoed groom waiting for her in earnest before the dais.

Mesmerized, Klaus would forget to blink while she sauntered nearer like an angel without wings. He'd curse silently. Hardly surprised she'd managed to steal the breath from his lungs today without bloody trying. Taking his hand, finally arrived, Caroline would feel steady for the first time that day—and precious. Like a pearl that'd found itself a chain from which it could always shine.

The promise of forever would brim in their glistening eyes and land on their lips in rehearsed ' _I promise to honor you, to cherish you_ ' vows; their mouths anchored, trembling, as they met at the altar in married kiss. Caroline would smile afterwards, glowing with sunshine laughter. She'd reflect on their humbling and hostile beginnings with a shake of her head as they turned to face their guests, grateful to herself for never giving up on him because she always believed there was just as much fluff in him as there were rough edges. And wasn't it spectacular how she loved _him_ more now than she loved being right?

" _Most of the time, anyway_ …" she'd add with a wink in her mind. (You know, to keep him on his toes.)

A lump would form in Klaus' throat as he beheld his beloved bride for the first time—half from disbelief and wonder, half from adoring pride too full for him to form coherent words. " _Did it happen?_ " he'd marvel, giving himself a pinch. " _Could it be real_?"

Could such a lovely creature truly be his? Was this how it was to supposed to feel—heart skipping and galloping— _bursting_ with color—when happiness knotted all the way through a person's insides? Was this what it meant to be loved in return…or just by Caroline?

Without warning, ' _aww'_ -ing applause would awaken them both from their dream-like stupor, reminding them they weren't the only two people in the room. In fact, they'd be far from alone. Bonnie and Elena would cry while Katherine would mutter ' _it took you two long enough_ ' under her breath. The Mikaelson siblings would cheer in the moments before they swarmed to greet the newly pronounced lovebirds in the aisle below.

Elijah, the best man, would offer Klaus a genteel and brotherly handshake, then would deposit a congratulatory kiss onto Caroline's knuckles with a dignified bow of his head. " _It's an honor to welcome you to the family_ ," he'd say. Rebekah, after swiping at tears she _swore_ to them would never fall, would shrug, her face beaming with beautiful bridesmaid defeat because " _loving [them] dearly had proven to be too bloody easy, after all_." As for Kol, he'd goad Klaus for choosing such an exquisite partner in crime because ' _it looked absolutely fucking hopeless for a while._ ' To Caroline, he'd cup his hand, waggle his eyebrows, and add in a whisper, ' _if you're ever in need of a hot affair or two, darling, just remember…I'm you're guy_ " to which he'd a receive a pointy but playful elbow to the ribs.

A practiced orchestra would fill the chandelier'd venue with the romantic hum of cello, viola, and violin strings, the musician's fingers gliding through the movements of a Venetian waltz. Champagne flouts would raise in toast to Klaus and Caroline throughout the evening (especially now that everyone knew it was unquestionably their "thing.") Speeches would be given, and kisses would be stolen without shame or fear or surprise. An antique, three-karat pink diamond would be wrapped around the third finger of Caroline's left hand, sparkling with soft warmth amid the candlelight, resting against her knuckle like a loving throne because Klaus had gifted her the kingdom of his heart, and it was now all hers to own.

One smile, one touch of the hand was all it'd take for them to take on the world with the one who would never leave. Together, as husband and wife, they'd be plucky and full and happily bickering. Better than all of that, however, they'd be completely heedless of time. Built to last.

 _"May your love for me be_

 _like_

 _the scent of the evening sea_

 _drifting in_

 _through a quiet window_

 _so i do not have to run_

 _or chase or fall_

 _... to feel you_

 _all i have to do_

 _is_

 _breathe."_

* * *

 **The poem at the end is by Sanober Khan. One of my favorite (and relatively newly discovered) poets. What did you think? Yay? Nay?**

 **Comments are lovely. Until next time!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	38. A Call That Angers,A Moment That Exposes

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE : ****I promise I'm still working on my other multi-part stories from AU Week, but the holidays were busy and so is work and my crazy, doc-filled life. I'm clicking away whenever I have the chance, though! ;) Anyway,**_ _ **this is my contribution to the Klaroline Winter Wonderland Exchange for the lovely laufire. I hope you like it.**_

 _ **xx Ashlee Bree**_

* * *

 _ **SUMMARY : Klaus knows Caroline has a prom to plan, that she's more or less threatened him not to bother her again after she helped to "bring him back" from Silas's mind intrusion, but he's confused by the influx of text messages she's shooting his way. And all those angry tomato faces, too. **_

_**He's not scouring the earth for Tyler, he's not siring or slaying hybrids, he hasn't bothered her friends or tried to contact her at all...yet she's upset with him for some new reason. And he has no idea why.**_ _ **What's changed since "friends, then?" (Canon until 4x18)**_

* * *

"Listen, love, I know you warned me _not_ to call you after our little Silas incident," Klaus drawled when he heard her answer the phone with an irritated click-and-huff, "but I feel I require an explanation for the onslaught of angry tomato faces you texted me a short while ago. Is the quantity meant as mere hyperbole or have I somehow managed to offend you ten separate ways without my knowledge or consent this fine Virginia afternoon?"

"Those weren't tomatoes, genius. They were scowling emojis," Caroline said, correcting him.

"Tom- _eh_ -toe, tom- _aw_ -toe…"

"Oh, for crying out loud! Can you _not_ be impossible for two minutes, please," she snapped, "or is that too much to ask of you?"

"Perhaps if you tried asking me nicely."

"I don't know why I bother asking you anything. Let alone talking to you at all," she mumbled through clenched teeth. " _Ever_."

"Just for the record, sweetheart," Klaus interjected with a soft chuckle, paying no heed to her grumbling commentary because her revulsion was oddly endearing not to mention futile, "I believe one scowling text would have been sufficient enough for me to denote your obvious but unfounded anger."

"Please tell me you're kidding. You're kidding, right?" Her tone was half accusation, half roll-her-eyes-because-she's-not-surprised-by-this groan.

"No…" he trailed off, "no, can't say that I am."

"You're unreal. Abso- _lutely_ unreal!"

"I assure you I'm quite in earnest, Caroline."

"Ha!"

"Post-stake-stabbing and bleach, I thought we left things okay? And, dare I say, more or less…" Klaus paused for effect, " _friend-ish_?"

He gripped the phone tighter to his ear. "What's happened here?" he asked, unable to prevent that note of panic and concern from creeping into his throat, but desperate to swallow it down before she heard anything untoward.

"Un- _freaking_ -believable," she muttered under her breath, and scoffed for extra measure.

Klaus could picture her standing there—in her light and airy bedroom, before the fireplace at the Salvatore boarding house, in front of her alphabetized locker at Mystic Falls High, leaning against the pool table at the Grill, clutching her ' _x_ '-marked clipboard at a prom committee meeting (or wherever the bloody hell she was)—with her hands on her hips and one foot tapping with impatient energy as she readied to scold him in that perky, but razor-sharp-and-smiling, way of hers that meant business.

"I mean, why _should_ I expect you to be anything but infuriating and goading as hell? It's always the same with you no matter what, isn't it? You push, push, push. You don't stop," she continued in a shrill voice, "you never stop!"

"Let's skip past all the unpleasantries and blame, shall we? Just tell me what atrocity I've 'supposedly' committed," Klaus air-quoted, scraping his fingers down his weary face and plopping himself into a leather armchair in his bedroom with a sigh, "so I can work out how to acquit myself."

"Oh, please! Don't pretend like you don't know exactly why I'm pissed."

"Who's pretending, sweetheart?"

"Ugh! I swear I'd stab you with that white oak stake right now if I could," she replied tartly. Caroline would probably throw her head back here, fists balled, then narrow her eyes at him until the hostility she directed toward him became palpable and blanketed him in the kind of hurt and disappointment he'd prefer to ignore. Then he'd lie to himself so he could believe those emotions never surfaced, that they were never there. "This isn't funny Klaus!"

"Again," he said as his voice unraveled into something more pointed and humorless, "who's laughing?"

She relented a little bit here, but not enough to erase all remaining traces of annoyance, frustration, and disgust from her words.

"Just tell me how to fix it, okay? Or at least tell me which one of your minions you deployed to snatch then tamper with it, so I can bully him or her into correcting this nonsense. I suggest you do it soon, too, before I stage a coup and convince Silas to come after you again enacting _my_ revenge."

"Fix what?"

Caroline released an exasperated sound akin to a ' _why didn't I kill you when I had the chance?_ ' "Stop acting clueless!" she demanded, her foot stomping in the background.

"I'm not."

"You are, too! This isn't a damn game, okay? It's my life."

"And this is _my_ bloody time you're wasting!" Klaus cut in as his patience fractured, jaw ticking.

"Stop screwing with me, then!" she shot back, more pleading than irate.

"I assure you I'm doing no such thing. But I _am_ growing exceedingly tired of these riddles, Caroline." Klaus' knuckles whitened and dug into his knees as he leaned forward and half-growled into the phone. "So either tell me what on God's earth prompted your emoji frenzy and sour as lemon attitude, or I promise I'll hang up and tear into the next innocent human throat I see, leaving _you_ to pick up the detached limbs all over Mystic Falls—alone."

"Are you seriously going to sit there on your proverbial iron throne and act like you never stole—never hacked into my damn phone!?" she asked, incredulous.

"Call me old-fashioned or ill-informed, love, but I was of the opinion that _friends_ didn't take or break into each other's belongings without permission?"

She laughed bitterly, disbelief rolling off her tongue like blades of ice, "Yeah, sure. And since when do you, of all people, follow rules of protocol?"

"I don't," Klaus answered. Caroline hummed triumphantly. "That is…" he licked his lips, rubbing them together uncomfortably, "That is until I met you," he added in a low timbre.

"Oh, really? So what does that make me, then," she clucked spitefully, "your almighty _exception_?"

"Stranger things have happened, so who knows? You could be, love. You could be."

"Wait…what!?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, "Nothing," he murmured.

"Did you just—"

"Nothing!" he barked as panic scuttled up his spine like spiderlegs. "I said nothing, damn you!"

Klaus regretted the admission the moment it left his mouth, the words sliding across his teeth and slipping out between his lips in a soft, artless way that betrayed too much meaning and speared their banter into silence, becoming a vulnerability he hadn't intended to share with himself not to mention speak out loud. To _her_.

It was amazing and appalling, the things Caroline stirred inside of him. Mercy, pity, forgiveness, hope, tenderness: all of those human sensibilities she pulled out of his dusty, darkened recesses like entrails without trying—one-by-one—to make him almost grateful for the taste of blood they left behind whenever she was done; finished for the day, perhaps, but not ready to give up on him. _Not quite, not yet_.

Something unsettling always seemed to sink beneath his skin in her presence, behind her scrutiny, because of her influence and how she challenged him at every blasted turn whether she stood before him or berated him over the phone about a slew of ' _the Allure is calling for you, so come and surrender_ ' notifications; and he often felt himself bending in places he swore he would never budge again let alone would threaten to break open anew. He found himself willing to sacrifice certain things he wanted merely to make her smile. He found himself hoping to provide her with the happiness she desired.

Truth be told, for the first time in centuries, he found that, for Caroline, he at least wanted to _try_.

 _xx_

After a few more seconds of wordless awkwardness, therefore, particularly since there'd been no resolution between them over this whole phone rubbish, Klaus suggested they meet somewhere neutral and out-of-the-way (some place crowded, if she preferred) to debunk this whole mystery over a cup of coffee.

 _It could be our new "c"_ _thing,_ he was tempted to say but didn't. _Like champagne_.

Caroline hesitated at the proposition for what seemed like a decade. Then, after sighing as if she'd exhausted all other appealing avoid-the-hybrid options, she resolved to meet him at _Wake Up Café_ on the outskirts of town within half an hour. Making sure to warn him beforehand, of course, that if this whole thing turned out to be some twisted, contrived game he'd concocted in order to trick her into spending time alone with him, she'd make him regret it. Sorely and completely. (As if he was somehow fool enough not to know that already.)

She wasted no time once she arrived at the coffee shop, either. She never did.

Caroline preferred to bite right into the meat of things, bypassing all the fat and fluff to chew on the truth of things with him, which is something he not only respected but admired. She was determined—to the point of tenacity, frankly—to sniff Klaus out for lies or suspicious behavior while she unloaded on him the barrage of "Allure" messages and notifications she'd received over the last day-and-a-half. The ones, as she'd soon come to understand, had been forged and delivered by a hand that wasn't his.

"It doesn't make sense, okay?" Caroline said, her fingers tearing through blonde tendrils. "Who else would go to such ridiculous lengths to convince me to acknowledge a so-called _attraction to darkness_ , if not for you?"

Klaus shrugged. "It could be one of those asinine teenage pranks?"

"None of my friends are that cruel. Or stupid," she added in afterthought.

Klaus averted his gaze. He traced the rim of his coffee mug with his index finger as the corners of his mouth twitched, "Are you sure you about that, sweetheart?"

"Yes!"

"Of course," he nodded, unconvinced. "Whatever you say."

She glared at him here, but it lacked substance and dwindled into uncertain obscurity in seconds, creasing her forehead like a question mark and giving way to the amused chuckle he hadn't realized he'd been trying to stifle.

"Don't be an ass," Caroline pointed in warning, fighting back a smile.

"According to you," he clasped his hands together and leaned his elbows on the table's edge, "I can't help myself. It's apparently one of my most prominent and more inherent qualities," Klaus said.

She frowned. "That's not true."

"No?"

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. Sighing, her blonde waves spilled over her shoulders as she peered up at him with a flicker of something soft in her gaze he didn't recognize, "Believe it or not, you can be okay sometimes."

"Really now? How fascinating." Klaus scooted upright, adjusting his posture so as to show her his attentiveness, "Tell me more."

"There's no need for you to grow a bigger head than you already have or anything," Caroline rolled her eyes. "I only meant that—just—you're not totally—" she fidgeted, pausing to collect herself, "I mean, your company isn't always so—"

He inched forward and let his palm slide flat across the tabletop. "Yes?"

"Whatever. Never mind."

She bit her bottom lip; waved him away with a blush.

"Don't worry, love," Klaus intoned, warmth buoying in his chest because their fingers were only millimeters from touching, "I aim to improve upon that _sometimes._ And I will, you know _…_ straight away."

Caroline arched an eyebrow but didn't move or retract her hand as she shifted closer to smirk and whisper, "You're exhausting, you know that?"

"I do, yes." Considering her with a tilt of his head and a smug look, he added, "But I think perhaps you enjoy that about me? I'd venture a step further to say I believe you like the enigma I am because it's unsettling and more than a little provoking to you that I'm shadowed and full of sharp edges and layers. I think…why, I think I intrigue you."

He paused to run his thumb across her bedrock of knuckles, careful not to look up for fear of exposing too much or too little. Then, with a scratch of his chin, he added, "Occasionally, anyway."

"You infuriate me, too, though," she said a little too forcibly, the reply coming out louder than she'd intended.

Klaus grinned.

The rest of the café evaporated. No more screeching chairs, no more _dings_ from the cash register, no more crying infants, muffled business, or coffee spills—nothing more was heard; nothing else was seen or smelt or touched. It was just a suspended moment now. Her and him. Them. _This_. It was just their slipping, sliding, perfectly mismatched, fingertips skating into position for the first time to graze skin, timidly; tenderly; and seeming to electrify them both in tandem like a cosmic click.

"You infuriate me _most_ , I mean. Like—" Caroline stalled to run her tongue over her lower lip, probably knowing she should push back and let go of his hand…but she didn't; she couldn't, "Like, more than anything."

"I know. You needn't explain," Klaus conceded, the words rolling out of his mouth in one hoarse breath.

Inhaling, he let her scent percolate. He roamed her features, relished the feel of her silky vanilla hand beneath his because it was warmer than he'd imagined—all the way through tendon and bone—and it made his heart gallop until all the sense he had left buried itself beneath a shallow grave to rest. No longer sleeping like it had been in the months since they first met, but killed into restlessness. It was a fate worse than death.

"Right. Good," Caroline clipped at last, her gaze narrowed on their still-bumping fingers; her breathing erratic and disturbed, her cheeks reddening because she knew damn-well she never denied it. No, she never denied being intrigued by him…liking him…wondering, wishing, wanting… _something_ … _anything._

The rebuttal never once left her mouth, never once breached her lips to smash against his ears like cymbals. It dissolved. Faded into silence. Or, more unbelievable than not, perhaps it was never there.

"Just so…just so we're clear then," she said, disguising a shudder with a whip of her hair over her shoulder.

"Of course." Klaus' eyes were steady, penetrating: warmer than honey. More gold. "Always."

A knock sounded on the window then, interrupting them. Breaking the moment and the tension like a snipped-in-half _pling_.

Turning, Caroline drew back from him to throw her hands over her mouth and squeak in a mixture of surprise and horror; Klaus crumbled a napkin in his fist and snarled, his mind swirling with fury, shock, and confusion. They were frozen. Stunted. In a matter of seconds, they became two vampire statues cemented to their wooden chairs, gaping and blinking in an effort to regain some semblance of composure—grappling to understand _what in bloody hell_ this meant—and trying to ascertain if it was some kind of trick, or if it was a witch-brewed dream. After all, was not the world full of monsters with bloodstained vendettas who either already were, or could become, their enemies?

Regardless, the last thing they expected was exposure. Like this. By a man such as _him_.

 _Silas_.

Never once did Klaus take his eyes off the impostor who stood before them in the middle of the sidewalk dressed in _his_ favorite Henley, wearing _his_ smug smirk, and waving _his_ private and in-progress portrait of Caroline at them both like a jibe. Or like a hint of some kind. What kind of warped and sadistic mental attack was this? From where did he conjure the nerve? Why, and for what goddamn reason, would he dare to believe Klaus wouldn't hunt him down and slaughter him into ribbons for this?

Laughing as if he'd heard a punchline with a meaning only he grasped, Silas flipped over the canvas and pressed it against the window where it stuck almost as if it were suction-cupped. He took off without waiting for their reaction. Or, more likely than anything, he left before he could face retribution and painful, neck-snapping, heart-squashing retaliation.

In the end, all that remained of him was this message written for Klaus and Caroline in black paint:

 _The Allure is what brought you here_

 _The Allure is what connects you, what makes you the same_

 _The Allure is here to stay_

 _Stop fighting. Surrender. It won't go away._

 _—And neither will I_

* * *

 ** _Comments are wonderful._**

 ** _As always, thank YOU lovely readers. Your encouragement, support, and the fact you take the time to read anything I write at all, means so much to me. *hugs*_**


	39. Drain Me of This Blushing Neglect

**A/N** **: Remember when I said ages and ages ago I had planned a Klaus POV for my KC/Hades & Persephone AU I posted for AU Week in October? Well...TA DA! Here it is! I know it took me forever, but you can thank some incredibly talented Tumblr fairies for giving me the inspiration to finish this.**

 **(Part 1 is Chapter 35: "Fill Me With Your Kissing Death" but I'm going to post them together in their own story here soon.)**

 **Happy reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Many eons ago, in a land rife with sharp, barbed edges which were thicker than mountain bone yet more slippery than a snake's shedding skin, and throughout a kingdom forged out of tinted glass the color of dragon's breath and oppressive temperature swings that clattered teeth or beaded flesh with sweat, a god-king paced the dim crooks and corridors of his home at all hours like a wraith. And like a wraith, he floated through his duties and demands. Lost to all dreams of delight.

It was during a time when loneliness still cracked hard along Klaus's knuckles as well, charring blood between his bones until it drained into deeper pits of nothing because there was only empty air to hold, because there was only that whistling despondency around each muscle, around each tendon of his fists. It was in a moment, too, when midnight felt like a silk rope around his neck: exquisite in its strength and power to bind, but so tight he wanted to choke while his fingernails pried at the prickly coffin. Crying out for a rose-snowed droplet of life. Gasping for the swell of cerulean waves and dawn's preening feathers.

As he skulked beneath the dense fog of another unbearable death-day one evening, however, a yellow daisy suddenly appeared like a vision to slip through the full but dark moon above his head. With naught but a single petal, it slithered open the center with a flawless vibrancy that made it impossible for him to blink. Eager, it seemed, to dig itself through the earth's dirt and worms so it could wilt somewhere against the austere rock below, near his feet. Perhaps even die. For, there, in the Deadlands, the only water which existed came from tears which weren't plucked—never plucked—but scratched from a cemetery of miserable, tormented, bloodshot eyes.

Klaus monitored the daisy's progress with rapt attention. Curious, of course, but also flummoxed by the crumbling stones of the plum sky which fell to the ground like droplets of hail as the petal sliced its way inside. Humming vivid streaks of moisture atop blunt peaks and ashy ravines. And also illuminating the air with songbird waves that were slowly taking form. Down the center of the moon the flower cut with smooth purpose and precision, seeping into the Deadlands with a gush so it could unfurl all its spring curves before him like a million rays of honey slipping from a budded sheath.

It expanded toward him in silky green leaflets first, and in peachy feminine limbs second. Revealing to him, not a flower, but a garden of a woman not yet in full bloom. A sagacious, cheerful young woman, who, like him in a complementary way, was an outcast in a cosmos where multifaceted hopes or ambitions were stifled—blackened until they could no longer breathe. And yet…

The young maiden planted herself before him like a partially eclipsed tree: half shaded, half shining rays of gold.

"Sorry if the light stings a bit, but you'll adjust to it in time. And to me," she said, beaming. "My name's Caroline, by the way."

Like a perfectly off-kilter dichotomy, she then offered Klaus a sprite " _hello_ " with no bow. Unafraid, it seemed, to match him eye-to-eye; nor to face him, toe-to-toe.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I thought it proper to introduce myself." Caught off guard, all he could do was blink. "You know," she added with a flippant hand gesture plus an anxious bounce of her toes, "since I'm to become queen and everything?"

"Truth be told, love," he sighed and scratched the back of his neck, "I don't recall placing an order to the Sky for a midnight bride, so I'm at a loss here. What are you saying? And how did you manage to squeak through the gates of my home without prior—ah, what's the word?"

"Death?"

"I was going to say invitation," he said with a twitch of his mouth, "but frankly…yes."

"Oh, that." Caroline rolled her eyes then snorted like the answer was obvious. "I came of my own volition, silly! I found and ate your lovely forbidden fruit."

"You…you _what_!?"

"No need to pretend to be shocked or anything. That pomegranate was a devil to procure, sure, but not impossible by any means. (Personally, I think on some subconscious level, you hoped someone would find it and that's why you didn't obscure it from view completely.)"

"Besides," she continued lightheartedly, "I was determined. I needed a new home where I could cultivate my extremes, and you…" she bit her lip, "well, you needed me."

Klaus blanched for a second time, recovering only long enough to arch a brow at her.

"Don't look at me like that. You do." Caroline fixed him with a penetrating glance and crossed her arms. "You need me—I can feel it."

Chuckling, Klaus mused over this last comment before billowing around her with an acute gaze so he could assess her, head-to-foot. He took in her green-thorned thumbs, her soil-hemmed gown, her hair woven through with dandelion weeds, and couldn't help but think her an anomaly. A beautifully assertive and _provoking_ anomaly, mind you, but an anomaly all the same.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said in reply, "but I assure you I require nothing and no one. I never have and I never will. Moreover, the absolute last thing I desire is a spring queen." "In fact," he added with an air of protracted arrogance and a voice which boomed with commanding certainty, "were I so inclined to choose a bride for myself at all—which I neither am nor plan to be (I prefer to rule alone, unchallenged, you see)—what makes you think I'd dare to select one as fresh or as perky as you are, hmm?"

"Wow. Are you so greedy and bitter that you refuse to share the falling granules of Time with me? Seriously!?"

"And what if I am?"

Caroline gaped.

"You know," she narrowed her eyes; placed her hands on her hips, "I rather expected you to be glad of some eternal company down here after all your time alone…but nope!"

"Instead, you're nothing but a stubborn and pretentious _jerk_ who'd rather sift along in solitary sameness, absolutely miserable, than usher in an opportunity for change and cohesion! You're…you're a coward! Terrified of the mere _possibility_ of intimacy, you are," she scoffed. "You want it more than anything, but you're too damn afraid to let yourself have it even though I'm basically gifting it to you for free! And let me tell you, pal," Caroline added with an arm-crossed _humph_ and a pout, "being alone by choice is infinitely more tragic than being alone by command."

"Pretentious jerk, eh?" Something twinged hard against his ribcage. "Coward?" It was his heart. It was his heart twingeing; it was his heart heavying in his chest.

"That's not so awful," Klaus said with forced apathy as he let the stinging truth of her words sink in. "I've been called much worse than that."

"What?" Caroline's brow furrowed and she softened. "By who?" she asked.

"My father…earthlings…tormented souls…" He offered her a tight, painful smile. "Anyone and everyone, I suppose."

"Really?"

Klaus shrugged, glancing away to kick at a rock.

"I'm sorry that's…that's not okay. I shouldn't have—you're not that bad, okay? You're just a little…rough around the edges is all."

"So I've been told."

"Don't let it go to your head or anything, and definitely do not make a habit of infuriating me, because I _will_ throttle you," she said, daring him to try with a look, "but I kind of like that you're enigmatic. You're vexing in a good way, you know? You keep a girl on her toes."

Caroline drifted closer then, and it thrummed something deep inside of him because he could smell her authenticity. He could feel how much she meant what she said.

Soft and delicate, this spring darling was spun from thread that burned gold with candor, consideration and care; so instead of flaming into annihilation when another's anger or pain snipped at one of her split ends, she curled herself around the wound like a compress and shined hope against it until all felt possible. Until all was healed again. Not healed in the way it once was, mind you, but doctored in a way which stitched all the residual agony together, making one feel better about the jaggedness it left behind in the end. More calm and controlled about it, so to speak.

She was nourishing in presence as well. She cultivated growth in a way that required the shoveling up of his old roots to study tangles and bends because she believed it was the only way to see where the neglect first started, because it was the only way for her to calculate when the rot would win out if there were no intervention.

(Not that Caroline wouldn't work like hell before disease encroached that far, of course. Because she would. She _did_.)

Hair trickled over her shoulders like blades of grass bending in the breeze, too. It framed her in shades of mercy so blonde, and so glossy, she reeked of pure sincerity and compassion, infecting everyone she met along the way. And while the trunk of her was deep and grooved with shadows—not to mention full of thick sap Klaus smelled but couldn't see without sawing further beneath her rings, the leaves of her were airy and graceful and constantly swaying in a fashion which he considered to be most distracting. Yet…

Also (much to his chagrin), grossly enchanting.

This young woman, who had appeared in his kingdom without beckoning, was beguiling in an unsettling way. She unnerved him with tender words and mannerisms until the distrustful paranoia in his mind began to thaw…until the cold armor of his chest started to fall with a settled _plonk_ near his ankles.

Something about Caroline primed his ears to listen and consider before he spoke. Where, with anyone else, his mouth wouldn't hesitant to strike out or blast.

So, why the discrepancy? What was so halting about her, how was she so melting?

She was everything Klaus shunned, after all. She was everything Klaus pertained to loath here in this jarring domain…amid these burdensome, endlessly lamenting, clutching souls.

A woman who, with a chirping voice much too high and sweet when she spoke her three-syllable name: _Caroline, Caroline_ ; plus a smile which held the promise of sharp green, yellow, blue and pink demands, and a chin stained with the red-orange juice of a pomegranate, had asked upon her arrival, if he'd clip open the iron cage around his heart for her. Wondering, sanguinely, if he'd make room for a white-blossomed girl with nothing to offer him but seeds.

 _But would he?_

 _Could he?_

Klaus already knew no one wanted to amble through the dank and troubled air of his thoughts, of his kingdom. Just like he understood no creature in existence thirsted for his smoldering artistry, either.

It seemed people feared the scraping of his charcoal fingertips through their heads because he tended to linger over their memories, dreams, and friendships until they shivered or sweat. The cretins never once appreciating the skill it took to sketch out every folded swoop of longing he found wound around their bones like shoelaces. Which was laughable, frankly. Truly laughable. After all, what was so hard to fathom about a king, sentenced to the dark, who knew how to paint others' misery?

All beings shrank away from his hunger, though. They always had. They found fault with his voracious creativity and called him _the Sculptor of Shadows_ behind his back while they tittered.

(And they were always tittering.)

Something unsettled earthen kind about the way his glare ripped them apart to draw what once was in the realm above, to paint that which was no longer their's to hold or hide. With his eyes brushing against all the weight their hearts had to bear in life, he colored all conflict out of them and stroked it into the air for review.

Each piece was unique in its daunting, but exquisite, truth, too. No two stories, no two people, were the same.

Klaus had an innate talent for depicting with whom another's life was shared, for how long it was felt, why it was relished, resented, or missed; and when it all came to an end—but most people hated it. Hated _him_ for his creations. Every single one of them were unable to understand precisely why their old lives must be preserved on ghost canvasses that could echo, but could never be touched again. They couldn't reconcile how much agony it cost him to portray things he longed to experience himself, but most likely never would.

Klaus knew, too, that no soul, dead or alive, cared for knowledge or insight into his bruising history. People preferred ignorance. People preferred not to hear.

It mattered not that his step-father, Mikael the Mighty, kicked him from the cloud-castles of his birth and into the pits of hell because he thought him a plague on the Original family— _a repulsive half-blooded beast_ , _you are; and no son of mine_ , he'd said before punting Klaus into the Deadlands to rot; to be forgotten; to roast in the flames like garbage—only that people distrusted the moonstruck yellow of his seer eyes more. They were eyes which stalked through so much of others' loveliness and adventures, but reflected no such contentedness of his own in their depths.

Unfortunately, suspicion and aversion were the emotions which won out first and foremost among the once-living. It was easier for earthlings to fear him. Loath him. Misunderstand him. It was easier for them to condemn his pledge to preserve everlasting memories in death than to understand that he'd never waltz in the arms of the changing seasons himself unless he did so vicariously: through them.

Perhaps it was too difficult for anyone to believe Klaus might know something of dejection, too? Or grief. Or wonder. Or longing for something _alive._ Perhaps it was impossible for anyone to fathom that the Kindred of the Damned might know something of suffering, too?

"You can't fool me, you know," Caroline cut in like a chirping dove.

"No?"

"No."

"Why's that?"

"Because I…" Eyelashes flicking to his face, gaze unwavering, she shuffled forward with tulips trailing in her wake to place a tentative but steady hand on his chest. "Because I hear the muffled howl of your heart full of holes—how all of that emptiness blows straight through you. It calls out like the notes of a flute every time the wind rustles in the hopes that someone out there will hear it and rush into your arms. That's why I came. I heard it, I felt your aching melody in my veins," she said, her voice as soft as a feather. "I still do."

Reaching for his hand, she beamed up at him with the rose-gold softness of a million suns as she intertwined their fingers in a tender, comforting way he'd never been shown before. The gesture caused Klaus's throat to scratch uncomfortably. His lungs tingled with the warmth of a coming sunrise, making it almost difficult to breathe.

"That doesn't mean you can dethrone me, though, sweetheart," he replied in a low drawl.

"It doesn't, you're right. But if you let me," Caroline said with a tilt of her head and a spreading smile, "I could occupy one next to you so you always have someone by your side?"

Those words, as legend later would claim, changed everything.

For, although she left behind a small lesion on the moon's sooty, weathered face where her perfectly-petalled tip punctured it with grace and light, she showed Klaus the finesse of bending instead of breaking. She replenished his rotted insides with laughter, with hopes of forever which tangled them together like two onyx-shamrock stems dancing in the wind. She taught him how, sometimes, a heart given freely beats louder and longer, feels fatter and fuller, and gushes softer and surer than a heart that's taken forcibly.

Before long, Klaus realized her nectar burned too bright for him to resist the urge to close his eyes and revel in her liquid sunshine taste…so he breathed Caroline in until he was blinded. And here's a little secret:

He never regretted it once, either.

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 **Comments are always more than appreciated. Anyway, I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading and for your support, lovelies! Until next time...**


	40. A Dash of Rebellion

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : My contribution to the Klaroline Valentine's Exchange for the lovely thatsanotherlovestory. **

**SUMMARY : At twenty-years-old, Caroline Forbes is Queen of the United Falls and Sir Niklaus Mikaelson is Head of her Queen's Guard. Where she faces pressure to rule, curb conflict, remain true to her principles, and marry; he faces the world with emotions reinforced in steel so nothing can touch him. Though they approach problems and their solutions differently, they live by the same "duel me if you dare" mantra and find that a little conflict may be precisely what they both need. (Human + Royalty + Victorian Era AU)**

 **Enjoy lovelies. :)**

* * *

Every true knight hankered for a dash of rebellion, the sword at his side becoming a clashing steel appendage forged in his grip to teach him the art of dance amid skirmishes with all the opponents he'd encounter at royal court or in the throes of militant war throughout his lifetime. And cumbersome, draining though it was, he always brandished his blade in front of his chest so no one could clip him hard enough to knock him off his feet. For that was the trick and the skill of a swordsman, was it not? Learning how to slice or shield well enough to keep himself standing. Knowing how or when to maneuver so blood never dripped from his armor, so it never puddled onto the ground between his fallen knees as they surrendered to the grass with a _clunk_ of defeat.

With a grin, a furtive glint in his eyes, plus a flick of his hand that encouraged an attack, every true knight welcomed a new threat. He was adrenalized by the prospect of another battle, of another heart riddled through with want of bloodshed. He was vigilant in both his watchfulness and in his taunting ' _duel me if you dare_.' He invited the world to strike out against his back with duplicity and deceit, with cunning that trundled open before his tripped-up, yet still pursuing, feet. He goaded his enemies to best him—or to die trying.

Sir Niklaus Mikaelson was no exception to this rule.

In fact, as Head of the Queen's Guard in the United Falls (which was a distinguished position in general, but since he was only twenty-five, and had been in charge of the country's whole military outfit for six years now, was a historical honor as well), he reveled in the opportunity to break insurrection against the spine of his kingdom's mountain-peaked laws. He thrilled in the chase of his challengers, focus and bloodlust curling beneath his tongue until dissent slipped down his throat with a grunt and he won. And won he surely did: like an iron thrust-and-slit to the gut.

It's how he'd acquired the epithet, Red Wolf. The realm's subjects forever marveling at how he managed to hunt down the worst of the worst offenders to the crown with a maddening glee and voraciousness that bordered on savage: his victorious knuckles stained red with ambition, his stormblue eyes bottomless pits which teemed full of some hellish tearing and teething determination to prevail. They gasped then gossiped about how he quelled attacks from the Quarterlands in the south with Machiavellian strategy, guile, and equanimity. Wondering all the while, of course, if perhaps he was born with a rapier's hilt fused into his fist because it seemed as if he'd always known the most devastating way to wield it. They believed that was the reason why he never lost. How, despite all the swirling turmoil and conflict of the past years under Queen Elizabeth first, then Queen Caroline second, that's why he never fell. It's why they'd assumed he never would.

If only the people endeavored to veer closer, however, they'd no doubt discover he'd fallen already. Worse than fallen, truth be told. For—

 _He'd been fatally wounded, you see, with no hope for recovery._

* * *

The wind stirred with a frigid gust one January mid-afternoon, plump snowflakes trickling down from the blustery gray clouds above to moisten and redden the cheeks of five young ladies—the Queen plus her four ladies-in-waiting—who commandeered their white mares through a copse of tall pines at a leisurely trot through the park behind the palace, their mirthful voices bouncing with the frivolities and musings of youth. Far from the palace walls, most of the ladies rode astride and were adorned in tailored riding habits which highlighted one or more of their illustrious traits.

Lady Katerina Petrova, Baroness of Moonstone, for instance, struck an eye-stopping figure in her audacious red silk petticoat with silver galloon trim and fur adornments; while her cousin, Lady Elena Gilbert of Dos Salvatore, faded into the landscape with her tight russet jacket and felted sateen skirt as she perched on her side saddle. Magical in a plum chemisette with flared sleeves, Lady Bonnie Bennett of Ascendant donned a matching hat with a splotched sheer veil and leather gloves, maneuvering her steed with natural surety. The Marquess's daughter of Orleans Original, Lady Rebekah Mikaelson, sported a fancy velvet ensemble trimmed in olive green and large gold buttons which ran down the center of the jacket and around the cuffs to show off her splendor. And, also, her prestige. The Queen herself sparkled with carefree good humor amid her companions this day, the sheening navy of her petticoat fanning out over her horse's back like a rippling wave on the Atlantic sea. The effect, much like the lady herself, was equally as graceful as it was mercurial.

All of them were pleased to take in the lovely winter day, and one another's company.

"I never expected such a competitive suit for my hand between two brothers, so I cannot begin to imagine what miseries you must be suffering, Your Majesty," blushed the one with the long, silky strand of brunette hair knotted at the neck. It fell across her right shoulder. "It must be tiresome to weed through nobleman who seek to secure you only for political advantage and a crown. Tell me, do any of your marriage prospects seem promising at this juncture at all?"

"I don't know? It's difficult to say," Caroline replied with a sigh, glancing wistfully at a space between the trees where the shadows lingered.

"Prince Tyler of Italy is handsome and exceedingly fond of country sports like shooting and riding, and Prince Enzo St. Jean is uproariously entertaining. He teaches me the most scandalous French phrases and never shies away from an opportunity to indulge me in a reel, often leaving me breathless with laughter. I certainly enjoy their company. Like them both, even, but…marriage?" she shakes her head and frowns to denote her unwillingness to consider such an idea.

"It is difficult to balance duty with inclination, no? In my experience—"

"Oh, hush up Elena. None of us want to hear another droll tale about your conflicting, ever-transferring feelings for the unremarkable viscounts, Stefan and Damon. I believe we heard enough of that rubbish prior to your engagement to Lord Stefan, don't you? Besides," the woman's brown-eyed doppelgänger added with a smirk and a keen flicker of her lashes, "don't forget they both courted me for a time, too."

"As if you'd let her forget such a thing, Kat." Shaking her head, the lady with the golden-brown skin and bright white smile to the right of the Queen said, "Don't forget we already know you're an unapologetic coquet. And that you probably always will be."

"Touché, Bon. Touché." She winked. "But being chased by suitors is half the fun of coming out in society, after all."

"Says the 'mournful' widow."

Unbothered by this slight, Katherine shrugged.

"The Baron was an eel who deserved his early demise. Besides, life would be insipid were I not to partake in its pleasures."

"Where does that leave my poor brother, Elijah, whenever you're through scandalizing him, I wonder?" mused the stately blonde on the farthest right horse. She twitched up her eyebrow almost in warning, appraising her friend.

"He's a duke and the leader of the Hybrid government, Rebekah," the first girl, Lady Elena, said with a pursed look and a straightening of her shoulders. She pulled her reins tighter. "I'm sure with his impressive intellect and good breeding, he'll prove himself to be resistant to my cousin's wily charms."

"Ladies, ladies. If I were you, I wouldn't be so smug or dismissive about the attachment Duke Mikaelson and I share…" Katherine drawled complacently, knowledge flashing behind her smile.

While Lady Elena gaped in shocked outrage and Lady Bonnie pressed a glove to her mouth, stifling a giggle, Lady Rebekah muttered a stream of ' _heaven forbid_ 's' and ' _this cannot possibly be_ 's' under her breath.

"Does that mean the two of you have, um, reached an understanding?" the Queen said with interest. It'd be a surprise to them all, surely, for she was not the kind of woman to be ensnared easily by a man—fortune, title, sprawling estate, or not.

Before providing an answer, however, Lady Katherine kicked a spur and took off at a gallop to head deeper into the thickening forest. She glanced back over her shoulder only long enough to say, "Perhaps if you can catch me before I jump all the snowdrifts in Mystic Park, I'll reveal all to you."

"You're on!" the girls' voices echoed in challenge.

Despite the chill, Caroline inhaled the freshness of the air with relish, watching as white puffs of breath left her mouth while in hasty pursuit of her friend. She cleared another downed log with an effortless grace and embraced the rhythmic plod of her horse's hooves as they pushed her forward, and ahead. The smell of pine and dirt filled her nostrils, low-hanging twigs snapping against the fabric of her tailored sleeves as she maneuvered around tight bends or plunged straight through small gaps in the thicket to gain an edge. Smiling, she tasted the minty flavor of the wind when it clattered her teeth because she couldn't stop shivering, because she couldn't keep her stomach from fluttering in the moments she felt as if she were flying—soaring openly over earth, people, and sky.

No one was there to hook her 'round the elbow to admonish her with a hissed, " _You mustn't, you mustn't_." Nothing but the bumps ahead slowed her down. Nothing was before her but ecstasy, and the open arms of free fall.

It wasn't often the Queen was permitted to indulge freely in the rush of her senses, after all. So she made sure to take advantage of all these trifling little allowances when she could, letting all her tangled thinking fade away into the instinctual and unconscious thump of her heartbeat. Giving herself leave to look. To reach out or touch. To feel all that convention and etiquette bid her to deny herself.

She realized, too, as ice prickled at her forehead and blonde tendrils swept across her vision like a blindfold, the path before her blurring into shapes and sounds and smells with no solid form besides that of whooshing, tilted space, that she yearned for the kind of freedom to follow her heart which her royal responsibilities would not allow at this time. Or worse, perhaps, would not permit in this noble life at all.

But she knew what she wanted. Obstinate, strong, astute, and with a will that was all hers to own, she would fight for it.

Snow continued to drift from the sky overhead, falling a little steadier against her back now, a little heavier, and it spread out across the foreground like a perfect ivory blanket waiting to be trampled full of hoof prints. Lady Katherine eventually relented her pace and idled back toward Queen Caroline and the rest of her companions. Content in the knowledge that she was more or less uncatchable, but anxious to return to the warmth of the hearth before they all caught cold. And while Caroline was loath to end their outdoor excursion to return to her formidable and balmy palace cage, she knew she still needed to read through some plans of state and her friends wanted to dress for dinner soon, anyway.

"I heard Sir Saltzman insinuate to Lord Parker at dinner the other day, that he believed you'd make a match soon, Your Majesty," Lady Bonnie imparted as they neared the stables.

"Yes, well…" she frowned. "That is what is expected of me, is it not?"

"From your tone, I gather that information is unfounded then?"

Caroline's brow furrowed as she considered how best to answer.

"My advisors thrill in reproaching me on the matter of my marriage, that much is true—yes. Especially now that Mother is far too ill to perform her duties and has stepped down, giving rule of the kingdom over to me."

"What is the issue of your ruling alone again?" Lady Elena asked, genuinely clueless.

"According to them, an unmarried queen is _'not only unpardonable but dangerous to political stability_ ,' " the Queen said, mimicking the gentlemen's low postured voices and pomposity with an eye roll.

"Outrageous! Unpardonable, too," Lady Bonnie said, displeased.

"It's more predictable and presumptuous than anything, I'm afraid." Caroline's shoulders tensed and she let out an irritated sigh, gripping the bridle harder as her jaw clenched. She lifted her chin so as to combat the indignity she felt screaming in the cave of her throat. "Most men in this country believe I need a husband to tame me, someone to…control me."

Katherine and Bonnie both sneered at this. They took no pains to conceal their contempt for pretentious, meddlesome men who aimed to manipulate, then puppetize, their twenty-year-old monarch like she were made of nothing but strings for them to yank. Women were not playthings. And they never would be.

"Preposterous!" Lady Rebekah said. She then scoffed for extra measure. "Your merciful trade and immigration deals in conjunction with Nik's military success in the Quarterlands have brought more peace here than we've known in a decade! What need have you for any man besides my brother?"

"Precisely," Katherine concurred. "With a trusted champion, defender, and friend like him by your side already, I trust you need no husband at all."

Sliding down from her mount, the Queen tilted her head back toward the trees and cracked a small smile when she perceived the flash of a blue-gold blade shining through the falling snow.

"Sir Niklaus is enough man for me to handle, indeed. I require nothing more, I assure you. No one else."

"Is this the primary reason for your St. Valentine's Ball in a fortnight, then?" inquired Lady Elena, redirecting the discourse a little. "To select a husband and quiet the kingdom-wide grumbling?"

"I shall let the the pressuring fools believe that to be my aim, yes. But mostly…mostly the ball is something elegant, diverting, and lovely. For me. For us all."

"And, oh," Caroline trilled with a twitch of her lips, brightening considerably as she untied her hat from her head and led her mare into its stall with a jaunt in her step, "oh, just you wait until you see the magnificence I have planned!"

* * *

Man.

Bastard.

Warrior.

Wolf.

Shadow.

Sir Niklaus was all the singular nouns that meant isolation and thick castle walls so high no one climbed his stone exterior with rope, hands, or shoes, let alone tried to peer behind it—into the windowed darkness within. He folded himself into crevasses as if he belonged to them. The depths almost chaining him by the soul so he was free to hide in plain sight as he moved. Like a specter, he slipped through walls and disappeared into curtained corners largely unseen, the whole world insensible to his silent and piercing scrutiny because it could feel him only in the little raised hairs he awoke when he stalked close enough to exhale against the back of someone's neck. Disbanding the danger a person posed with a _crack_ one barely felt and never heard.

He wore secrecy and invisibility like a second skin. Not one peep, not one glimmer of light escaping from his uniformed shape. He trained himself in artifice until victory rolled off his smirking lips without him needing to speak a single word. He learned what it meant to hunt: how thirsty and throat-scratching the waiting tasted when he was the predator, with just himself to feed. Never more than one whispery, pleading mouth throughout the day to heed. Only his own.

Alone in his dark tower life, Niklaus was a low blue-burning flame with nothing except time at his disposal and a knightly trade which could clank and grind that lingering, lonely _thump_ of his heart away into cinders. Which it had. He _did_. He did the moment his father learned of his illegitimacy and disinherited him, throwing him into the streets by the coattails like a gentleman beggar, daring him to either make his own way in society or starve amidst the filth.

He chose the former without hesitation, if only to incense Mikael more. He'd excised all caring from his chest with a butterknife that hapless day to sacrifice warmth for spite, to trade heart for head, to armor his body with steel instead of only skin so nothing could injure him again. And he'd embroidered himself back together with the navy-gold metal of the Queen's Guard without glancing back at the father he'd lost. At the man who had always despised him for no good reason.

He'd sharpened and hardened himself at an astonishing pace, whittling down his edges until he was all blade. Until he was an all-imposing arsenal which opposing forces trembled to behold because he was all brute grace and cold edges which no one could puncture. _Untouchable Niklaus,_ soldiers everywhere called him behind his back, their voices pitched in a mixture of fear, respect, and incredulity, _the Iron-Hearted Sir._ He considered them not.

He'd sacrificed vulnerability easily then…all too happily…with no gritting or gnashing of teeth. There were no regrets, no flickers of uncertainty in his mind—

 _Once_.

But that was then. It was before. Too many worthless priorities and vendettas ago to matter.

Nowadays, he was all cut up beneath his breast plate. He was bleeding with questions, with ' _but_ 's' and ' _I wonder if_ 's,' with adrenaline rushes, with pesky flapping butterflies he couldn't catch before more of them slid from his stomach like knotted intestines and drained him of all serenity, the indifference he once prized so smugly seeping out through his heels until he was frozen in place. Wobbling. Paralyzed. Falling, falling, falling…

Now, he was slipping in and out of an unconscious desire to shut his eyes, to let the madness consume him so long as it was her touch singeing his insides until he could no longer breathe. He was ready to swoon into her arms and expire. He more than welcomed the opportunity.

Niklaus already knew wanting her was foolish, pointless, and insane. It was forbidden; it was dangerous and impulsive as hell. Irrational to the core of the man he was…to the man he thought he'd forged himself to become. (It was the bloody worst, frankly, because caring for her meant dying a hundred times a day, in a hundred different beautiful, maddening, abhorrent ways.)

For her, though, for this buoyant woman with orchids and diamonds in her hair and stubborn quips and riddled quarrels which caused her to lift up her nose at him, to cock her chin higher as she tapped her foot in ' _are you done yet?_ ' vexation, he found he was neither terrified nor unwilling to do it…to set his heart on fire.

He couldn't prevent it if he tried.

Hell, he'd let her char him into a statue for the palace lawns if she offered him one more smile, one more fluttering look. He'd let her crumble his tongue to ashes in order to pilfer just one kiss from her perfect, pouty little mouth. He'd let her smite him into the ground with a spear so long as she felt his heaving chest. That fierce, crackling riot. Those branded and blazing letters of her name lighting him up from the inside like a match dropped atop an ocean of oil.

Death by her cheerful command, he believed, would taste so ripe and sweet that he'd burst with uncontainable satisfaction, and wouldn't care a jot about meeting his demise.

What were lungs without Queen Caroline's perky vanilla scent near enough for him to smell, anyway? Why should he not surrender to her lovely, laughing, golden-rimmed dreams? When would he be able to find a hand as soft and as forgiving as hers amid these wild lands, amid these wretched rebels whose fingernails were rotted through with greed and wickedness?

 _Impossible. It could never be_.

How could he dare to move his lips again unless she needed advice or commendation for all the good she pulled from people, dumping it into their laps for closer study; making him break oaths to both himself, and to his occupation, so he could enter a room she was in with a joke that'd soften the sorrowful burden she held too low on her shoulders but would never impart on anyone else's. Who would blaspheme her enough to think a man wouldn't tear out his own ribs to protect her if he could?

He already had.

He already did.

He always, always would.

* * *

They'd resented one another in the beginning, of course, neither one of them accustomed to such tethered proximity or difference of opinion when it came to strategies of how best to undermine Aurora the Great (as the criminal so humbly referred to herself) in the Quarterlands.

Queen Caroline valued her personal space and privacy, meaning his ever-present shadow grated on her nerves. In addition, she'd also found Sir Niklaus to be much too haughty, callous, and inflexible in his proposition to invade their newly-acquired colony with muskets and cannon fire. She loathed the idea of any of her subjects, insurgents though some of them were, cowering to their knees before her in fear instead of in courtesy or respect. Sir Niklaus had believed her naive and fanciful if she thought peace could be achieved through cheerful treatise chit-chat over a tray of tea in the Augustine Greenhouse.

Both headstrong in their own ways, they'd bickered and bantered like a pair of growling dobermans. Sometimes shouting at one another so loud the paintings in the Hall of Predecessors trembled against the walls.

"This is war! Open rebellion of this magnitude must be crushed by strength and force alone. That is the only way to maintain control! The. Only. Way."

"Otherwise—" he'd said, jaw clenched, knuckles whiter than bone, "otherwise this entire kingdom…your reign (not to mention the pampered little princess lifestyle of which you've grown exceedingly fond throughout your lifetime) will be overthrown by a horde of treasonous peasants!"

"Why must you act as if the whole country will descend into anarchy if I attempt diplomatic negotiations first?"

"Because it bloody _will._ Is that what you want?" he asked. "Do you wish to be remembered as Careful Queen Caroline, the monarch who was too weak to quell an uprising?"

Placing her hands on her hips, reeling, Caroline offered him a smile so piercing it could've sliced him in half.

"Your scare tactics won't work on me, you know. I won't be manipulated."

"No?"

"No."

"Pity that," Niklaus said with an unapologetic sigh, "considering I'm right and all."

"Wanting to show empathy and consideration toward the angry, starving, unheard people of this world is _not_ weak, sir!"

"Says who? You?"

She baulked at this.

"Have you no heart? No compassion? Because I certainly do, and I believe I owe them the opportunity to settle this dispute with words instead of guns. They're afraid and desperate;" she said, "they're looking for someone who will hear their pleas, consider their demands, offer them hope for a better tomorrow. What kind of ruler would I be if I didn't at least try to help?"

"One more likely to win, I'd wager."

"Merciful qualities are admirable and encouraged in anyone, but especially in a queen. And how dare you—" Caroline's eyes narrowed "—how dare you attempt to imply otherwise," she said jabbing at his chest.

"Do you think Aurora will show you mercy in this fight?" Voice low, he snickered. Then he leaned in to let her finger poke the wolf emblem on his armor. "She'd sooner put your head on a pike. And I promise you…yes, I promise you she wouldn't lose a moment of sleep over it."

"I am no simpleton, thank you. I know what's at risk here," she spit back.

"Then be sensible and attack! Or do you care so little for your own life that you're willing to die to remain open-hearted toward unruly citizens?"

"Of course I care!" she said in a piqued tone, her nostrils flaring. "But I care about their lives, too. Just as much as mine. And I shall neither forsake them nor my principles for anyone, least of all for some devious warrior like you—do you understand?"

"It's your funeral, sweetheart," Niklaus grumbled as he'd turned and stalked away.

They'd both underestimated the other's skills in their respective professions at first, but not for long. The Queen had demonstrated to him with her outreach to Sir Marcellus Gerard of Bourbony, an ambassador from deep in the Quarterlands, for instance, that she could sway with shrewd sweetness, that she knew how to make political gains for her country with calm and well-articulated diplomacy. As a result of these maneuverings, Caroline had managed to reach trade and immigration deals with the Quarterlands which benefited the United Falls economically, socially, and legislatively. Not one droplet of blood spilt anywhere.

It was a remarkable feat to witness. Impressive, truly impressive.

Similarly, Sir Niklaus had showed her the vileness of Aurora's ambition when he'd defended Caroline from a would-be assassin: jumping before her to absorb a bullet in his armored abdomen as she and her mother ambled through Mystic Park one evening. He'd disarmed the man responsible with a single shot from his revolver. Dragging him into the castle dungeons shortly thereafter for questioning then execution.

Hunting down the traitorous Aurora when he'd recovered, he saw to the beheading justice she'd not only earned but deserved. But he did so only after he'd rounded up the rest of her followers, one-by-one, and forced her to hear how unapologetically they betrayed her. He made her watch as they fell before their patient Queen to kiss the marble near her feet, spilling all of the Quarterlands' mutinous secrets and perfidy, pleading for Caroline to show them clemency.

"Listen," she'd said as she perched near his bed in the infirmary, all too conscious of his wound from that madman, Sir Tristan de Martel, "I'm declaring a truce, okay?"

"What for?"

"It's simple. I no longer wish to fight with you."

Shifting back against the pillows, his stitches tugged and he licked his tongue across his teeth to repress a grimace, "Somehow I find that incredibly hard to believe, love."

"Why's that?"

"Arguing with me has become an art form to you. Tell me you wouldn't miss the creative expression," he said, smirking, "that witticism'd spark you derive when putting me in my place?"

"Confiding in you could become an art of its own, you realize," Caroline countered. She blinked at him sharply: with challenge. "But only if you'd give me leave enough to try."

"That is what a husband or a prince is for, is it not, Ma'am? Not a soldier."

"But I haven't got a husband or a prince, have I? I've only got you."

"How unfortunate for you then," he said.

Despite rolling her eyes at his disgruntled tone, she reached forward across the sheets to slide her hand over his and to stroke his knuckles sweetly, tenderly. She regarded him with a slight tilt of her head. No hint of her usual hostility or exasperation was there; because, strangely, her mouth curved upward before it broke open into a wide blooming smile so warm, and new, it shined like the spring sun.

Niklaus, unused to such attentions or expressions, caught his breath. His legs melting into the mattress. And his tongue, ordinarily so cutting, so debasing toward others, for he was much too practiced in the skill of retaliation, dried of words entirely.

"Anyway, since you launched yourself in front of my almost-murderer like a true knight—like the unbelievable fool you are," the Queen reproached him all dewy, flashing eyes and appreciative wrist-squeezes, "I thought I'd endeavor to change things between us. Marginally improve things, if I can."

He parted his lips, but remained unable to speak.

"War between us is not what I desire."

"Then what do you want?" he said.

"I thought—" she breathed, "I thought perhaps we could learn how to listen, communicate, and esteem as well as challenge one another? It would be nice to have someone I could rely on, someone I could learn from, too, seeing as I'm a novice at this crown business. I need allies, sir, not more enemies. Plus, I hope we'd…you know, come to trust each other in time."

A blush colored Caroline's cheeks as she spoke. She glanced out the window in an effort to disguise her discomposure. He wasn't sure why, but Niklaus found her eye-avoiding unease to be rather endearing.

"Now, then," she said, perking up a bit as she turned back to pat his hand in an amicable gesture, "that doesn't sound so awful, does it?"

All remaining harshness leaked out of him the moment she folded her hand inside of his, a thread of hope resting between their touching palms. He sighed,

"That doesn't sound awful at all, actually."

"Really?"

"Really," Sir Niklaus agreed in a soft voice, surprising himself.

"Good, because I—" she gnawed on her bottom lip; stared down at their slowly intertwining fingers which seemed to click together like magnets, "I believe we'd work better together, you see. As a…as a cohesive unit."

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, ignoring that thumping in his breast because it pounded in an arrhythmia he no longer recognized, Sir Niklaus dimpled as he forced her to meet his gaze.

"Comrades, then?" he'd asked as he extended his right hand like a gentleman.

"Comrades," she'd smiled, shaking on it.

When days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months encroached upon a year, their alliance escalated from that of camaraderie into something different: unraveling intimacy and understanding between them in ways that required nothing more than a nod or a scratch of the neck to set plans into motion, a squinting look becoming a decision made between them but never needing to be uttered out loud. Words transformed into an accessory they almost didn't need. Their minds were aligned; their hearts were so in sync they felt entangled. It seemed as if they were…tethered together somehow.

They grew into something bigger.

Closer.

Deeper.

Bolder.

Grander.

Their relationship became symbiotic in practice, clutching in nature. It was something full of tinderhooks that pierced the soul and stung like hell because it dug in with roots unlikely to be removed. Classified material, histories, and emotions shuffled back-and-forth between their lips and ears like tomes of prose to reveal secrets that only they two would share in a life which felt bereft of choice or privacy.

They weren't simply comrades any longer, were they? _No_. No, they'd transformed into something more meaningful, something damning to them both: _confidants_.

As a member of the Queen's Guard, you see, Sir Niklaus had already sworn an oath to protect and defend his monarch until Death claimed him. It was his honor; it was his duty. How this detached duty to the crown had transformed into a steadfast and irrevocable devotion to Caroline Forbes, the reigning Queen of the United Falls, however—

That was the conundrum he now faced, was it not?

* * *

 **I took some historical liberties, but I tried to stick to 19th century convention as much as possible. Let me know what you think. And, as always, thank you so much for reading.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	41. There She Lay

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is technically for Day 1 of Klaroline Appreciation Week (Moment You Knew You Shipped Them), but since I write slow and/or can't stop editing, it's late. (3x11 AU/OS)**

 **Happy reading!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

How keen and defiant Caroline's eyes were. How suspicious they grew as she monitored the sauntering cadence of his footsteps. From her curled position on the mattress, her blonde head pillowed sweetly but damp with beads of post-werewolf-bitten sweat, the shrewd blue in them churned up at Klaus like ocean flames. They brewed with emotion. And zest.

Wild and seething, scathing but tepid, fluid with softness yet bright enough to sunburn flesh to rust or to melt a man's secrets from his head until they flowed from hands in rivers of un-scrubbed blood, Caroline's eyes unnerved him. They trapped breath in his throat. They nearly tacked him in place at the door's threshold, mid-step.

(Almost but not quite.)

After all, Klaus wasn't one to be halted. He wasn't one to meditate much on why the hairs on his forearms erected the moment she glared in his direction, the ambiguity and accusation in her springing out at him like talons. Scratching hard at human scabs he'd learned, long ago, to neglect.

Brazen, perceptive, and warmer than a pair of fiery fisticuffs, Caroline's two eyes pulled at tarnished zippers inside of him. They plucked at slivers of feeling he believed he'd long since slayed and subdued. Buried dead. All of that pesky emotion had been tucked away deep in immortal catacombs where it belonged, undisturbed. Free from disruption or survey. Until now, at any rate. Until tonight.

It took a certain kind of monster to claw holes through his impenetrable defenses, Klaus realized. A complement more sweet than sour. Especially if she were the kind of monster who was comprised of filaments of light even though Death lurked like a promise on the horizon, more than ready to bite.

That said, there was a prowess in Caroline he recognized. There was potential in her that felt equal parts kindred, distinct, and deviant, and the combination caught him entirely by surprise. It fired a shiver of familiarity and exhilaration down his spine to awaken an ungodly _thump_ somewhere he begrudged, but couldn't well ignore.

(Though he tried.)

'Collateral damage _'_ had become nothing more than an accurate, though trivial, phrase Klaus threw around like an old dog to a bone until this shining dying girl fixed him with a look so unapologetically fierce and insolent, it tainted the words. Turning them to metal in his mouth.

 _"Are you going to kill me?"_ Caroline cut in bluntly. With her head tilted, she peppered the question with a quaver of uncertainty in her chin, but raised her nose high and proud to stifle it down.

" _On your birthday?"_ he baulked. " _Do you really think that low of me_?"

She raised her lashes. Arched her brow hawkishly. Then, meeting his stare, she unleashed a scowl so visceral and unflinching, that, had she been able to muster the energy, she would've molted him to ashes with one pouty little twist of her mouth.

" _Yes_ ," she said.

 _Ouch,_ was his primary reaction to her answer. _Damn,_ was his second.

Yes - damn the slight crinkling of his brow at the disdain she spit back at him! Double damn the pang of disappointment, of almost-regret, clubbing through his thoughts now!

How dare she attempt to provoke him when he came to save her, when he showed the sheriff enough benevolence to provide her only daughter with the healing salve in his veins? What did Klaus care for this young woman's bloody opinion, anyway?

Caroline Forbes was beautiful, of course, and spirited it seemed - but he'd scissored off heads, quartered limbs free from torsos, and tore hearts through ribcages for less impertinence than this. He'd ripped smiles from prettier lips. He'd snatched dreams away from the likes of Cleopatra, of Helen of Troy; he'd squeezed the life from far more infamous necks than she. So how come Klaus could not seem to bring himself to look away from her face?

Why was he reeling closer and closer? In what instant was he compelled enough to perch near the edge of her bed, his voice low and silky; soothing her woes? How could he not stop peering into her eyes? Studying the way they narrowed? Flashed? Flickered? Cut him down to size? What mesmerized him so about the way they upbraided him with a mixture of hostility and intrigue, of truth and turbulence?

On the one hand, their round squinting shape dared him to strike out with fangs and be done with the worst already. On the other, they accentuated the fear in Caroline's dilated pupils - that part of her which screamed that she was about to die - knowing that he could kill her savagely, viciously, and that he would do so without hesitation - any moment now.

Except he didn't. That's not what Klaus wanted, truth be told. Hope for death wasn't what he yearned to find in this stunning blonde anomaly this evening; no - it was thirst for life.

Strangely, it felt as if some unseen hand shoved him forward until his knees knocked, buckling against the edge of her bed, the moment he thought this. It tumbled him toward her all charm, all tenderness - almost feet-over-head. He smiled when he bent down to inspect the ageless curiosity reflected in her expression: the mirrored life there, the embers of eternity present and burning like stars from her eyes,

" _I'll let you in on a little secret—_ " Klaus began with vigor.

Unfortunately for him, this triggered yet another inconvenient _thump_ in his chest that he was unable to suppress in her presence tonight. And although he never suspected the possibility then from where she lay, bitten and bleeding, more alive than dead, he'd soon find it'd become one of many such recurrences in the future…

* * *

 **I apologize if this reads clunky or feels like it ends abruptly, but I grew tired of staring at it. Thoughts? Thanks for reading, lovelies.**


	42. In This Drunken Place Forgetting Is Long

**A/N : Just a trifle where Caroline's stuck in Mystic Falls unable to keep herself from thinking about Klaus. Set post-TVD 8x16 but (probably?) pre-TO 5x01. (Honestly, imagine what you will.) Some extra 5x11 speculation/musings as well. SFW, though. More poetic prose than I intended but *shrugs* such is my life.**

 **I hope you like it regardless. :D**

* * *

There are moments - like after a long week spent disciplining her students for supernatural misconduct until her head hemorrhages, and she retreats to a secluded copse at the back of the boarding house with a bottle of Merlot, a blanket, and a bag of B+ blood (which she procures for herself, fresh, on Friday evenings from the Human Scum and Dirtbag Department at the hospital as a special end-of-the-week treat); or when she's desperate to unwind with a few 'life is rough' drinks, restless and dejected enough to lie on her back and trace the faded plane clouds in the sky with her eyes, imagining future destinations, pretending to be a passenger because she'd rather daydream about exploring the world she still yearns to see than bask in the warm but familiar pink of another sunset in her hometown, alone - that Caroline hears him. _You'll think of me from time to time, you know._ That Caroline feels his lips at the shell of her ear all over again, whispering. _Your feelings for me will fester._ Taunting her with certainties too obnoxious, too presumptuous, to heed. _Mine for you will, too, love. So don't fret. There's no need to question or doubt the scope of my affections._ At least not seriously.

Caroline closes her eyes in these moments.

She closes her eyes and smells the damp leaves stuck to their backs again. His cologne. Their hands threaded and trembling, fitted together unbreakably. Klaus chuckling at the irony.

She tastes the stubble of his jaw as each press of his mouth scratches another fleeting sentence of eventuality against her lips - along her throat - down her bared torso which is slick with dirt and desire and sweat. Time freezes around them before it begins again. Slowly. Wrecking nothing in their small intimate world, of course, but changing everything in the breadth of a second.

She sees the sun shine from his dimples next. Licks the pleasant heat of his grin. Klaus' fingers trace freckle-to-freckle beneath her shirt, exploring every inch of her flesh as if it were a map to heaven he thought he'd never see, as if she were a mirage he never dreamed he'd be allowed to drift close enough to touch.

Caroline feels those hybrid eyes liven to a warm gold again and watches as his fangs drop. Pierce. His teeth nibbling as deliciously as lips against her shoulder, sucking all remaining sense between them away for good.

The sky explodes once more. Color and music fill the air. The memory of this ancient man pressed against her body tickles her lungs like oxygen - like a sweet something that's meant to be there forever - but shouldn't be.

Not now.

Not here.

Not…with him.

Everything about Klaus' gaze is soft and reverent when he pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. So much softer than it should be in a man cut from darkness, Caroline thinks, and much too patient for a wolf whose irises are gloomier than the craters of the moon. His gaze is savoring in a way that feathers goosebumps along her spine: a future destiny blossoming in his every look, with his every admiring sigh.

A prayer bites into her skin with each kiss he bestows along her collarbone, too. Begging for her to cling to him with nails and teeth and pluck. Dying to hold onto this bliss for another moment…and another…and another… _please_.

Caroline still tastes how much he doesn't want to let go. How deep the ache digs and stretches, the way it devours him whole.

It's in the metallic-pine flavor of his blood which curls under her tongue, lingering—chafing uncomfortably. Like salt in her gums. The tang of it is both addictive and freeing, gritty, so violent in its sweet-but-sour gravitas that the five letters of his name threaten to lick across her teeth until a moan builds and bursts loose again - _Klaus Klaus Klaus -_ the air thickening with feelings she's almost too terrified to stoke. But will. Must. Does.

How can she not pick at the scab he's left behind in her chest? Why not rip at the home he's moored inside her brain, with him floating there like an old ship that refuses to capsize, in her veins?

She can't resist the temptation tonight - no way. She can't withstand the itch of him…that unforgotten completeness.

His drawling assurances pour out like ink from somewhere deep in her mind to stain everything, and she lets them. Again and again, she lets her heart sip from the 'last love' promise he's made.

" _You will think of me, Caroline,_ " she hears Klaus say, his voice like a recording in her mind _._ A plague she cannot escape.

" _Pfft, and how big is your ego, Keith Urban? This was a one-time, get-you-out-of-my-system thing, okay? Nothing more."_

 _"Ah - but we're inevitable, don't you see?"_

 _"Oh, please," Caroline laughs as she hurls her tattered top at his face. He catches it one-handed, amusement apparent, and tucks it under his armpit like a souvenir._ " _Don't flatter yourself."_

" _Hope all you want, sweetheart, but your heart won't be able to forget me entirely. Not today, not tomorrow, not in a year from now - hell, not even after you've forged five decades worth of new experiences on your own - so how long until you stop deceiving yourself otherwise?"_

 _"Try a million years, buddy. How does that sound?" she answers pertly, hands on her hips._

 _"That's fine. Fantastic, rather." Klaus slides his hands into his pockets, his manner relaxed; smug. "I already told you I'd wait."_

 _"Yeah. Okay. Good luck with that," she says with a dismissive pat of her hand on his chest._

 _"Who needs luck when I have infinite time on my side? I'll wait," he says again. "I don't mind."_

 _"Ugh. You're delusional and annoying, but whatever."_

 _"Not to nitpick," he smirks, "but I prefer confident."_

 _She rolls her eyes."Of course you do."_

 _Then, after securing the buttons of her coat with deft fingers and a sigh, Klaus leans in to rub a thumb along her cheek before pulling her close to press one last, long languid kiss against her mouth, his tongue parting her lips wide._

 _"All I know is this thing between us is real," he says while intimacy and lust sting hot between them. Drawing back, he rests his forehead against hers and fixes her with a heady look, "So mark my words, love: you'll think of me. This isn't goodbye."_

His words are nothing more than a ghost of breath on Caroline's neck now. Words spoken so long ago that they should be more worn and tattered than a dying wind against her skin, barely registered in quiet, hardly distinct or penetrative enough to shout through her daily preoccupations and responsibilities; they should be inconsequential in her memory, faded in all sentiment—but they're not.

They're loud and constant. They're rude and belligerent. Prying as hell. Present in a way that makes her crazy. So crazy, in fact, that they scream across all the sensitive places beneath her skin until she's scratching at where they lie: remembering, reflecting, smiling.

Yes, that's right - _smiling_. (It's not a crime!) Caroline smiles when she thinks of him now, of the future love he's certain will fall into place between them.

Thoughts of Klaus anchor her to the wing of a plane that's illuminated in the distance sometimes.

In such moments, on nights like this, she closes her eyes and wanders away with them into the sunset over Mystic Falls. She lets them fly her back to the place in her head (heart?) where he remains, not because he's been lost or anything, but because he's only waiting to be found again. Chosen at last. And he will be.

One day.

* * *

 **The new Klaroline scenes have me hella inspired, so while I'd intended to write something more TO 5x01-based this poured out from me instead. (A writer's mind is fickle place to dwell, lemme tell you haha.) I'm not sure about how I feel about this one. Thoughts? Comments are lovely.**

 **Thanks for sticking around and reading, darlings!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


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